Page 63 of Fractured Rhythm

His hands gripped my hips, holding me steady, as his mouth plundered mine, his tongue tangling with my own. Kissing him might be my favorite thing to do. He was a master at rendering me speechless with the touch of his lips.

I pulled at his shirt, yanking it from his waistband and shoving it up his body.

He broke the kiss and took a step back so I could remove it, and I sent it sailing across the room before my fingers were back on his chest, tracing every line, every dip. I leaned in and tasted his heated skin, a mixture of salty and sweet and all Bash.

Then my stomach grumbled. And he laughed.

“Ignore that,” I said, scraping my nail over his nipple. It hardened under my touch, his stomach muscles vibrating with desire.

My stomach growled again. Fucking hell. I’d been so nervous about cooking for him I’d forgotten to eat lunch. I worked in an office with food all over the place and I’d forgotten to eat. Who does that?

Nervous Nellie, that’s who.

Dammit.

Like I’d never cooked for him before, I internally scoffed.

“Sorry. Forgot to eat lunch,” I mumbled.

“How about we make dinner together,” he started.

I snorted. “You were always a disaster in the kitchen.”

“Not funny. I’ve gotten a little better over the years. And you’re starving, so I figured if I helped, we could fill your belly faster, and then I could…” He trailed off with a wiggle of his brows, and I smacked his hard stomach.

“Dirty, dirty boy,” I scolded, my fingers lingering on his chest. “Are you sure you want to stop?”

My stomach rumbled again.

For fuck’s sake.

He chuckled. “You’ll be dessert,” he said, helping me off the kitchen island.

I pressed myself to his heated skin for good measure while my heart raced. Stupid need for sustenance. I wanted to feel him inside of me, surrounding me with his heat, but my damn stomach was a traitorous bastard.

“How someone could work in an office surrounded by food and not eat lunch or at least graze on food throughout the day is beyond me,” he said.

“Busy, I guess,” I said. “So, how are you going to help?” I didn’t need to tell him I was distracted and nervous all day.

“What are we making?”

“Pan-seared balsamic and rosemary chicken with bruschetta salsa and thinly sliced rosemary and garlic baby potatoes. The secret is garlic butter.”

He leaned in close. “The secret is always butter. Isn’t that what my mom used to say?”

“Yes. I learned everything from her.”

“I’m sure you’ve picked up some new tips since then,” he said, standing next to me in front of the cutting board that held everything we needed for the fresh bruschetta salsa.

“Maybe a few.”

“Come with me on our mini-tour. We’re playing at home. At Connors. It’s a secret show. They’ll announce it last minute. You can hang out with us and see Mom. She’d loved to spend some time with you,” he said, wrapping his arm around my waist and tugging me close to his side.

I tilted my head up to look at him. There was sincerity and hopefulness in his eyes.

“The tour is set?” I asked, ignoring the spark of pain in my chest. Steelwolf was going on tour without Jamie. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

“Hey.” He lowered his head, brushing a tender kiss across my brow. “I know this is hard. Fuck. It’s so damn hard. Jamie should be going with us.”

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