Page 16 of The Devil's Pawn

“Shut up,” I giggle, playfully swatting him on his chest with the back of my hand as we reach his enormous white kitchen.

He captures my wrist in his palm, his gaze darkening and his touch tightening, causing my core to throb just enough to know how turned on I suddenly am. His gaze drops down to my lips.

Hooded. Wanton.

I pant, unable to contain my emotions. And that’s when his touch softens as he lets me go, striding toward the fridge. I lower myself onto one of the black stools beside the kitchen island.

What the hell was that? And why do I want it to happen again?

“What are you in the mood for?” He opens the fridge, his hand disappearing inside like nothing just happened between us.

“You cook?” My words fall incredulously, my body still feeling the effects of his dominating touch.

“That’s right, baby girl. I hope you’re ready to be spoiled.” He peers at me over his shoulder, haunting me with those captivating eyes. “My brothers and I all know how to cook. We’re pretty good too.”

“Impressive,” I remark, still drowning in that spell he has me under whenever he looks at me or touches me. “Pancakes sound good.”

“Any special kind?”

“I do like them with blueberries.”

“Lucky for you…” I hear his smile as he delves inside the fridge. “I have some fresh ones.”

He gets to work laying out the ingredients, then takes out a pan and bowl from a cabinet. He tosses the milk and flour into the mixing bowl, and the sight of his forearms flexing and those muscles straining as he mixes, the veins beneath his tanned skin bulging angrily, has my toes curling. The impulse to run my fingers over all that virile power overwhelms me. But I sit here, ignoring the urges rolling up my body.

After he finishes the batter, he removes some plates and forks, handing me one of each, then retrieves a ladle, pouring a spoonful of batter onto the sizzling pan.

When the first one is done, he puts it on my plate. He’s very comfortable in the kitchen, and wow, that only makes him more attractive. A man who knows how to cook well is one of my downfalls.

“You’re staring again,” he teases with a handsome smirk, clearly enjoying the attention.

“I…um….”

I poke the pancake with my fork, destroying the poor thing, as my heart pounds.

“Okay, fine,” I throw in, my eyes slamming to his and my pulse quickening. “You got me. I was totally staring, okay? You’re hot. Unobjectively, insanely gorgeous.” I shroud my face with a hand. “There. I said it.”

Oh my hell. Why did I just do that?

“Damn. Hot and gorgeous in one sentence?” He chuckles. “Give it to me straight, though. On a scale of one to ten, with ten being Henry Cavill…” He throws another pancake on my plate. “How hot are we talking here?”

“Ugh!” I groan, my fork clattering against the plate as I drop it and cover my face with my hands “You’re not going to let me live this down, are you?”

“Not a chance in hell, baby.” Deep laughter fills the room, and then his hand lands on mine, his fingertips fledging over my knuckles. “It’s okay to be attracted to your husband. It’s normally required.”

There’s hilarity in his voice as I peek up at him and find amusement glinting in the auburn hues of his eyes.

“We’re not even married yet, and you’re already my husband?” I tilt up a brow. “You sure move fast.”

“You’ll be my wife later today, Raquel.” He hits me with an intense gaze, his voice growing huskier. “Might as well get used to the title.”

“How come this feels like I’m signing up for a bad reality show?” I cross my arms over my chest, eyes turning to thin slits. “Are you hiding cameras anywhere?”

I look both ways for effect.

He laughs, walking over to the counter to add some pancakes onto his plate before turning off the stove and finally taking a seat across from me. “Nah, sweetheart. Whenever there are cameras involved, it’s always because she wants them there.”

He winks, and I feel it shooting down my body, like a lightning strike in my panties, except a lot more exciting. I stuff a piece of pancake into my mouth, chewing until my breathing calms and I can formulate a response that doesn’t sound ridiculous.

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