Page 46 of Broken

He flashes me a wicked grin. “At least what? From what you told me about what happened last night, he doesn’t seem like the type of guy toat leastanything. If ya know what I mean.” He snickers. “I bet you won’t be able to walk after the first time you two finally fuck.”

I shake my head. “You’re such a frat boy.”

He tosses a grape at my head. “And you, baby girl, are blind.”

I fold my arms across my chest and scowl. “Am not.”

He steps around the kitchen island and slides his arm around my shoulder. “Are too. Even if we discount his wholetake your hands off my wiferoutine, no guy eats your pussy that good if he’s not into you.”

I shrug him off. “What would you know about eating pussy?”

He tilts his head, eyes crinkling as he smiles. “I’ve been known to dabble occasionally. Besides, head is head. Nobody does it full gusto if they’re not into the person they’re giving it to. And from what you told me…” He whistles.

My cheeks flame hotter, but the memory of Nathan making me come so hard that I squirted all over him and his kitchen floor makes me clench my thighs together. I didn’t tell Tyler all the details, but I told him enough. “I’m sorry I told you that now.”

His shoulders shake with silent laughter as he pours us each a glass of soda.

“What am I gonna do, Ty? I can’t just keep waiting for him to make a move. I need to take back a little control here.”

“So seduce him,” he says nonchalantly, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

“And how exactly do I do that? The man is an ice machine.”

Tyler laughs. “He wasn’t last night.”

I roll my eyes, but I can’t argue. Nathan was straight fire last night.

Ty pulls my hair aside and drapes it over my shoulder, all trace of his previous amusement at my situation now gone from his expression. “He’s just a guy, baby girl. Cook him a steak, wear some sexy lingerie, and he’ll be putty in your hands.”

Taking a sip of my soda, I stare at him over the rim of my glass. I’m not entirely convinced that Nathan James is just like any other guy, but what have I got to lose?

I stepout of the shower and reach for a towel when an ear-splitting alarm fills the room. I slam my hands over my ears. What in the bejeezus is that?

Oh crap, I smell smoke. Dinner!

I snatch my bathrobe off the vanity and wrap it around my wet body while hightailing it to the kitchen. Smoke billows out of the oven and the beeping grows more insistent. What in tarnation? I was only cooking potatoes. I grab the first thing I see, a dish towel, and pull open the door, coughing as smoke pours out. The smell of burnt cheese and cream makes me gag, but I swallow it down and pull out the tray.

Holy shit, that’s hot! I let go and the tray hits the floor, splattering molten cheese and potatoes in every direction. I suck on my burned thumb. Why did I think this was such a good idea? I couldn’t have just gone with a simple steak and fries. No, I had to get all fancy and try dauphinoise potatoes. Melted cheese drips down the glass door of the oven, and the marble floors are covered in a cream-and-cheese catastrophe. My hair dribbles water all over my face while smoke fills the kitchen, and the damn alarm threatens to make my eardrums bleed.

I look up at the source of the infernal noise and curse. It’s at least six feet above my head, and I have no clue how I’m going to turn it off.

“What the hell?” Nathan strides through the smoke and opens all the kitchen windows before pressing a button on the panel near the pantry. The god-awful beeping finally ceases, but my ears continue to ring.

Coughing, I wave a hand in front of my face. “I’m sorry. I was trying to make dauphinoise potatoes, but your deranged oven hates me.”

He eyes me suspiciously before glancing at the open oven door. An unidentifiable blob slides from the glass to the floor. “Maybe because you were using the electric grill and not the oven,” he says, his voice strained with what I can only assume is suppressed laughter.

I throw my hands in the air. “Well, there are six dozen settings, and they all look the same. How many functions does one appliance really need to perform? Can’t it just bake and roast like a regular oven?”

After grabbing an oven mitt from the drawer next to the stove, he picks up the tray of charred potatoes and scorched cheese and drops it into the trashcan, baking sheet and all. He turns and gives me his full attention, his lips twitching in a grin. “Cooking not really your strong suit, Mel?”

Pouting, I cross my arms over my chest. “Your fancy-ass oven doesn’t make it easy.”

He crosses the hazy room, although the smoke has started to clear, and rakes his gaze up and down my body. Thanks to my wet skin and dripping hair, the bathrobe clings to me, and he arches an eyebrow. “Were you making a special dinner?”

I clear my throat. “Kind of.”

He cocks his head. “What for?”

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