Page 88 of Four Seconds to Lose

“I tried to wake you up this morning but you sleep like the dead,” he says absently, a soft smile on his lips as his attention roams my face.

I scrubbed my makeup off before I came down. I also took out the contacts. I can do that much for him, at least.

“I could use a slave,” he murmurs. Then he leans down and lays one of his knee-buckling, thigh-tingling kisses on me and I silently thank God that I at least used his toothbrush to clean my teeth.

“Hmm... I thought you said you weren’t a pervert,” I tease against his mouth.

His dark chuckle sends shivers skittering along my skin. And then suddenly I’m being turned and my feet are moving backward to keep my balance as his powerful frame overwhelms me. Before I know what’s happening, my T-shirt is gone and I’m falling into the couch, just as Cain’s track pants hit the floor.

The smirk on his face is downright dangerous. “I lied.”

¦¦¦

“I really like waking up to you in my home,” Cain says as he slides a cup of coffee across the counter to me.

“I can tell,” I murmur dryly, letting my eyes roll over Cain’s arms, his chest, down his stomach—memories of what all those muscles looked like straining above me only twenty minutes ago firmly entrenched in my skull. With a glance up, I see him watching me with an amused smile, as if he knows exactly what I’m thinking about. I quickly distract myself with a fake itch on my thigh, focusing intently on it.

He could make it easier on both of us by throwing on a shirt.

But he won’t.

I think he likes me gawking at him.

It’s not bad enough that Charlie Rourke is a drug trafficker and a retired stripper. Now I’ve turned her into a sex fiend.

With a chuckle, Cain states rather than asks, “You must be hungry. I’ve got...” He opens the fridge and peers inside. “... condiments... orange juice... bread.” He sighs. “Sorry, Karina—my housekeeper—comes in twice a week to clean and replenish staples. I’m rarely here to eat a meal. But I’ll get this stocked.” Throwing the door shut, he pulls a piece of paper and a pen out of a drawer and asks, “What do you like?”

Cain is making a grocery list. For me.

I hesitate for a second and then grin playfully at him. “Frosted Flakes?”

I get an arched brow in return. “Really?”

“Childhood vice.”

“Okay... children’s cereal. That will spark Karina’s curiosity, no doubt.” A slow smile touches his lips as he jots it down. His penmanship is exceptionally neat. “Ten pounds of coffee... your own damn toothbrush, so you don’t use mine again.”

I feel the sheepish grin touch my face. By the wink he throws me, I think he’s only kidding.

“Brass pole for my bedroom...”

“They have those at the local grocery store?”

His phone starts ringing as he adds while scribbling, “Ten economy boxes of condoms.”

“What?”

He answers his phone with a chuckle and I use that opportunity to snatch the paper out from under him. He actually wrote that down.

“Nate,” I hear him say as he dumps the rest of his coffee in the sink and places the cup in the dishwasher. “Yup... good.” His gaze flickers to me. Listening for a moment, his eyes absently settling on my bare legs, Cain’s face suddenly turns serious. He stands up straighter. “Seriously? Fuck... Why didn’t you call me?... Yeah. I’ll have to deal with her tonight.” Another pause as he listens, his hand scratching his chin. Finally, he heaves a sigh. “Yeah, I’ll be in by four. I’ve gotta take Charlie back to her place... Yeah.” I can hear Nate’s deep rumble on the other line but I can’t make out what he’s saying. “See you later.”

I sense the atmosphere in the kitchen shifting as Cain’s mood sours.

And I hate it.

“I should get you home, Charlie,” he mutters, now focused intently on the granite pattern. I can tell his thoughts are elsewhere, moving out the door to head back into his own reality. Everything about him—his body language, his facial expression, his tone—feels like it’s closing off. Shifting back to the Cain that I first met. It’s as though he’s pulling a door shut to leave me and whatever this is between us on the other side. Separated from that other part of his life.

Cain and I have a lot in common.

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