He slathered it on the toast for both of them, then puttered around getting everything on the table in front of her. A big plate of food and a full cup of coffee. He could feel her watching him, but, much like he had with Mystery Llama, he chattered and worked and pretended like he didn’t notice.
And because he knew at least a thing or two about women, he didn’t mention that he was comparing her to a llama in his head.
“You’re…shockingly good at this.”
He slid into the chair next to her, trying to ignore the warmth the compliment offered. It was no big deal. Who couldn’t make eggs and toast and serve it to a beautiful woman he’d had sex with last night?
Twice.
She rolled her eyes. “Smug smile, Sharpe.”
“Just…remembering.”
“Oh jeez,” she muttered, focusing on eating her food, drinking her coffee. He liked the way the messed-up hair and his T-shirt made her look more…human, less like the machine that usually steamrolled into his life.
He liked that too, in a weird way, but he couldn’t deny seeing the softer side of her, this, last night, made her less…intimidating.
Not that he’d ever admit to being intimidated.
“Can I ask you a serious question?” she asked.
“Sure.”
“Why llamas? Really? I mean…that thing is so creepy.”
He chuckled. “You don’t believe all the reasons I gave you the other day?”
“Cattle or horses or, hell, crops would be more sensible.”
“Dan Sharpe is not known for being sensible.”
She screwed up her face in mock disgust. “Oh God, you just spoke about yourself in the third person.”
He donned his best hockey-announcer voice. “Dan Sharpe does that sometimes. Dan Sharpe is a pretty important person, and the third person emphasizes that.”
He was more than a little rewarded when she laughed—a full-bodied, cheerful laugh he didn’t think he’d ever heard come out of her mouth.
He would do a million goofy things to have that happen again.
But she stood, her plate and mug empty. “Well, enough of this leisurely morning. There is work to be done.”
“No rush.”
She placed the dishes in his sink, her eyes caught on something outside the window. “Not true, Dan. It’s nearly nine a.m. I haven’t started a day this late in…ever. Even when I have the flu, I get out of bed and do chores before nine.”
“Well, that’s just sad, darlin’.”
She shook her head, shoulders back, and fixed him with an I’m-the-boss glare. “We have work to do, and it’s long past work hours.” Some of her surety faded and she smoothed a hand over her hair. “I’m going to need to go home for a little bit. I don’t have…work clothes.” Her cheeks were pink as she fiddled with the hem of the shirt, pulling it down. “I’ll work overtime.”
“You know that’s hardly necessary.”
“It’s very necessary. You’re paying me to do a job, and I intend to do it. Otherwise…” She looked off at some point past his shoulder, expression pained. “Paying me and having sex is weird without work.”
He pushed away from the table, irritated at what she was insinuating. He wasn’t sure what the odd mix of discomfort and twisting in his stomach was, but he didn’t like it. “I’m not so hard up I have to lure women to sleep with me.”
She didn’t even falter when he stood toe to toe with her.
“I’m sure you’re not, but nevertheless…”
“Honey, your nevertheless always wants to make me beat my head against the wall.”
“I wish you wouldn’t call me that.”
“Mel,” he said, cupping her face. He liked that for some reason, the feel of her cheeks under his palms, the way she looked up at him when he did it. She always felt warm and real and…alive, with a kind of current that seeped into him, something akin to the feeling he got when he was on the ice. Like there was some untold source of energy there.
“Mel,” he repeated. He’d lost his train of thought on what they’d been talking, er, arguing about. So, he kissed her instead.
He had been braced for an argument, but she didn’t give it. She sighed against his mouth, and he wanted her again. Again and again.
“I need guidelines. For me,” she said against his mouth, not pulling away, not uncurling her fingers from his forearms.
“All right. Name them.”
“I need eight hours of every day that are spent on working your ranch. No touching, no flirting, and definitely no sexing.”
How she said that with a straight face was beyond him. “Sexing,” he said with a snort. “You are something else, Mel Shaw.”
“Deal, then?”
“One question.”
“Yeah,” she said warily, but remained still against him, still not backing away or putting distance between them.
“Do they have to be eight straight hours, or can there be…breaks?”
The slight pink to her cheeks went darker, but her eyes just drifted down to his mouth. “Um, well, I guess. As long as the breaks were specifically delineated.”
“All right. Specifically delineate.” He backed her into his bedroom, more than gratified at the sound of her laugh, the wideness of her smile.
Yeah, taking care wasn’t half bad.
Chapter 13