Page 72 of Psycho

He turned, spatula in hand, and smiled at me. “Good morning, larkspur.”

I sidled up behind him, sliding my hands around his waist, his hard stomach sucking in at the movement. I kissed his bare back. “Good morning.”

He used the spatula to point to a coffeemaker at the end of the counter. “Help yourself. There’s milk or creamer in the fridge.”

The “coffeemaker” was a bougie thing I’d seen when I was here before. Thankfully it had a pot full of black liquid. Cups hung on a row of hooks under the counter, and I plucked one and filled the mug. The fridge was ridiculously fancy with a screen on the front displaying the current weather and a view of the inside. I splashed some creamer in my mug and closed my eyes as I took a sip.

This was expensive shit.

I looked around the kitchen. The large white marble island housed a sink and dishwasher, an open concept overlooking the living room with the biggest TV I’d ever seen, and modern furniture.

“Good?” he asked, pointing to my mug. He slid pancakes and eggs onto a plate.

I nodded slightly. “You’re not what I was expecting.”

He froze, then turned, flipping off the burner and moving the pan to a different part of the smooth-top electric stovetop. “What do you mean?”

I didn’t like the lines creased between his brow, as if I’d upset him.

I gestured around with my free hand. “Your house is so nice. I was expecting mismatched furniture and movie posters on the wall and a ten-speed bike.” I lifted the coffee to my lips and took a sip.

So good.

He chuckled. “A bachelor pad?”

“Yeah,” I replied. “Did a decorator come in here and do all this?”

I thought I saw his cheeks flush red above his beard line. “Yes and no. I chose all this when I was having it built, and then had someone come in and suggest furniture and shit.”

“Again, not what I was expecting. And definitely not complaining. I like the open kitchen concept and the blacks and grays. It’s soothing, honestly.”

He nodded in thanks.

My gaze slid over his body, and I studied a few of his tattoos. “What’s that lady on your arm represent?” I asked.

He looked down at his left shoulder where a large woman’s face wearing some kind of headpiece was tattooed. “It’s a Viking Valkyrie. She’s a representation of strong women. I was raised by a strong woman, so it’s an ode to her. Chaos designed it.”

“That’s very sweet. I’m sure your mom loved that,” I said.

“She did.”

“And the wolf on your neck—all your guys have it. It’s a cool club tat. Chaos?” I asked

“Yep.” He slid a plate onto the island where I sat at one of the stools. He placed salt, pepper, hot sauce, and ketchup down. Then he plunked a glass of orange juice in front of me.

“Do you want a mimosa?”

I shook my head. “No, the OJ is perfect the way it is.” My stomach rumbled. “This smells delicious. I can’t believe you can cook this well, too. Who are you?”

He put another plate next to mine and came around, sitting next to me on the island. “I’m Sheppard Madden, Gemini. I love to work out, kick ass, and kill vampires. I also like decorating and antique shopping. Nice to meet you.”

I laughed. “You do not go antiquing, do you?”

He forked some eggs into his mouth and grinned. It was so sexy. “No. I have been a few times, but I rarely buy anything unless I think it’s worth something.”

“Like what?” I asked, splashing some Tabasco sauce on my hashbrowns.

“Like that.” He pointed to a very old-looking typewriter set in the corner of the room. It had Royal written on it and an old, yellowed paper scrolled up from the top.

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