Page 41 of Brutal Heir

Ezequiel likes to keep the house cold, a welcome respite from the broiling South Texas sun. But it’s an unexpected jolt to the system when you’ve spent the last few hours snuggled up to a virtual furnace.

I slide over to his side of the bed and sit up. It’s a big change from having to force myself awake each morning after the alarm goes off. Then I work through a medicine stupor from pills that are supposed to help me through the night.

The smell of coffee makes my mouth water, prompting me to get moving. But that’s not the only scent in the air. I smooth my hair back, pulling my scrunchie off in the process. Then I do my best to repair the mess that must be my hair before pulling my ponytail up again.

I get up, scrunching my toes into the thick carpet, luxuriating in the feel of it under my feet. It’s not hard to decide against slipping my sandals on right now.

Adjusting my top, I let myself out into the hall then silently shut the door.

Heavenly scents of breakfast make my stomach rumble. I press my hand to my midriff, trying to quiet it down. The protest is to be expected. I haven’t been able to eat a thing since I left here yesterday.

Swallowing hard, I head down the hall toward the kitchen. The light shining brightly, illuminating the way.

I peek around the corner to find Ezequiel casually leaning against the counter. His beefy hand is wrapped around a thick mug, steam rising from its surface.

“Breakfast,” he states. As usual, not a question.

I swallow the lump in my throat as I walk toward him, sticking to the counter. I don’t want to get close enough to be tempted by what he fixed.

“I’m not much of a breakfast person,” I say, my mouth watering. Then my stomach rumbles again, making a liar out of me.

“Is that a fact.” He takes a drink, his eyes fixed on me as he studies me over the rim of his cup.

My nipples pucker at the intensity of his gaze.

“You look hungry,” he says, voice full of innuendo.

“I’m not.” I pointedly ignore the heaping plate of scrambled eggs and bacon sitting on the table next to his.

His gaze lowers to my breasts, burning through my top.

He must’ve noticed my body’s reaction. Part of me is embarrassed at getting caught.

I take a step back, leaning against the counter for support. My heart is pounding as my cheeks flush with embarrassment. I can’t believe he can still have this effect on me, even after everything that’s happened, but I have to admit, I like it.

I scrunch my toes against the tile. “It’ll make me fat…ter.” I add the last part, in a lower voice.

“I don’t mind,” he says arrogantly, as if that’ll put a stop to the reason I won’t eat.

“I do,” I retort. It’s bad enough that my clothes are getting a little tight. Every time I use a button shirt I’m reminded of what that man said to me.

He takes another drink out of the mug, his eyes narrowing the tiniest bit, but it’s enough for his gaze to turn dangerous.

What is it about this side of him that thrills me?

“We’ll just have to find a different way for you to work off what you eat.”

A jolt of desire courses through me, at his words. Oh Lord, now I’m wet.

He sets the mug down and moves across the kitchen, broad shoulders filling the space as he draws nearer.

My pulse beats between my legs.

I shift my gaze, not wanting him to see that hungry look he mentioned. Unfortunately, I can’t help but notice he’s aroused. I watch him take every step until he’s right in front of me. Close enough that I feel the heat off his body.

“So, you plan to head back to town wearing this?” He hooks my blouse at my cleavage and tugs down, baring half my breast. Then he brings his hips against mine, pressing his erection into one side of my belly.

I part my lips, needing the extra help to get enough air into my lungs. “I…I brought a uniform.”

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