Page 13 of Unintentionally Yours

It was enough to make a girl forget her own name, never mind her manners.

Finn turned, a plate piled high with crispy bacon and sausage in hand, and Layla hastily averted her gaze, finding sudden fascination with the red-and-white checked curtains framing the window over the sink.

“Bacon or sausage?” Finn asked, setting the platter down on the table. There was a curious hum to his voice as they flicked over her blushing face that made Layla’s toes curl in her borrowed socks.

She licked her lips, trying to remember how to form words. “Bacon, please.”

The corner of Finn’s mouth kicked up just a fraction, and Layla’s flush deepened. It was as if he could read her mind, could sense the wholly inappropriate direction of her thoughts.

Which was ridiculous. The man was not a telepath. He just had a very...arresting presence. A way of looking at her that made her feel stripped bare, laid open, every secret want and need exposed to his knowing gaze.

It was unsettling. Thrilling.

And absolutely terrifying.

Mercifully, Finn didn’t seem to expect further conversation. He simply dished up two heaping plates of food - eggs, biscuits, bacon, the works - and set one down in front of Layla, along with a steaming mug of coffee.

There was already a small jug of milk, a crock of butter, and various jams and jellies crowding the center of the table. A cozy, homey touch that made Layla’s chest feel strangely tight. When was the last time she’d had a proper homemade breakfast? Hell, any kind of breakfast that didn’t consist of a granola bar scarfed down on the way to some soul-sucking brunch, fundraiser, or society function?

Too long. Too damn long.

“Dig in,” Finn said, pulling out his chair and settling his large frame with a nonchalant grace that made Layla faintly envious. She was pretty sure she still had pillow creases on her face.

Pushing down a flare of purely feminine pique - really, no one had the right to look that good after a night on the couch - Layla reached for the milk...at the exact moment, Finn did.

Their fingers brushed, a whisper of skin against skin, and Layla nearly jolted out of her chair at the shock of sensation that shot up her arm. Every nerve ending in her body was suddenly, violently awake and clamoring for attention.

From the way Finn stilled, his hand hovering millimeters from her own...she wasn’t the only one affected.

“Sorry,” Layla snatched her hand back as if scalded. Adrenaline surged through her veins.

Finn’s throat worked as he swallowed, his hand flexing once before curling it around the milk bottle. “S’okay.”

He poured for both of them, the trickle of liquid into ceramic mugs obscenely loud in the charged quiet. Layla watched the strong, deft movements of his hands, the way tendons corded in his wrists, the play of veins beneath tanned skin, and felt a corresponding tug low in her belly.

Oh, this was bad. So very, very bad.

Needing a distraction, Layla picked up her fork and tucked into her breakfast, hardly tasting the fluffy eggs or buttery biscuit as she chewed mechanically. Anything to keep her mouth busy, to prevent any of the wild, wanton words crowding her tongue from escaping.

“This is so good,” she mumbled around a mouthful. She swallowed and shot him a smile. “You’re quite the cook. I had you pegged as more of a hardtack and jerky kind of guy.”

He snorted. “I do have a few other skills beyond brooding and chopping wood, you know.”

“Oh, is that what mountain men do?”

“Pretty much.” He continued to eat.

“So, what made you ditch society?” As soon as she asked the question, she knew it had been the wrong thing to say. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry. I just… It’s just…” She shrugged. “It’s just unusual for someone so young and…” Gorgeous. Virile. Devastating. “…healthy to live alone in the middle of nowhere.”

He shrugged; gaze fixed on her. “Maybe I like the quiet. Getting away from all the noise and bullshit.”

She nodded slowly. “I understand that. Sometimes it feels like the whole world is pressing in, expecting you to be someone you’re not.” She poked at the rest of her eggs, her appetite fading. “I’ve never been very good at living up to expectations. Case in point.” She gestured wryly to her borrowed clothes.

Just then, a crack of thunder rattled the windowpanes, startling her and making her drop her fork with a clatter. Lightning split the sky a second later, a violent spear of electricity that seemed to strike mere inches from the cabin.

Heart in her throat, Layla pushed back from the table, her chair shrieking across the floor. She was shaking, fine tremors wracking her from head to toe as the storm raged outside, rain lashing the windows and wind howling like a lost soul.

She’d never liked thunderstorms, finding their chaotic violence deeply unsettling. And now, with her nerves already raw and exposed, her emotions scraped bloody...it was too much.

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