Page 86 of Rush of Jealousy

Graham turns to Collins, who is hovering in another room, and shoots him a knowing look. “Field my calls.”

“Yes, sir,” Collins responds on cue, catching Graham’s phone that flies through the air with ease.

The kitchen is open and inviting. Floor-to-ceiling windows surround the huge rectangular table, allowing in light and the connection with nature. The entire layout looks magazine-worthy with quartz countertops, stainless steel appliances, and a custom backsplash.

“Sit.”

“You change your mood so often, you know? I swear you are bipolar or something,” I mutter at the overbearingness of his single-word demands. I park my butt onto a stool that I pull out from the island. “I mean, if you are, then that is”—I try to think of the right words as I fumble this ball majorly—“fine. It is just that if you are, then you probably should—”

“I’m not bipolar, Angela.”

His words aren’t angry. If anything, he is resisting laughing.

My eyes narrow. “Glad I am entertaining.”

I watch him move around the kitchen with ease, dumping batter into the waffle maker and pulling out several prep bowls from the fridge. Blueberries, strawberries, chocolate chips, whipped cream, and raspberry syrup are the toppings. He arranges all of the fixings on a large flat wooden plate. It is basically a waffle charcuterie board and it looks spectacular.

There’s something very sexy about watching a man move around a kitchen. Chore porn. I admire this new version of him with a smirk. It is much different from the authoritative version of him I got just a moment prior while he was on the phone.

After several long minutes of silence, Graham arranges my plate with two cheesecake flavored waffles and gestures for me to add whatever toppings I like. I choose a little of everything and salivate at the sight and smell of the comforting scent of a country kitchen. Besides having bacon on some mornings when Claire is with Ethan, it has been awhile since I actually ate a hearty breakfast.

“Did you sleep well?” he asks, passing me a mug of freshly brewed Colombian coffee, fixed with cream and a sprinkle of sugar.

“I think so.” I breathe in the scent before taking my first sip. I could get high off the smell of a delicious cup of coffee. “How about you?”

“I would have slept better if you weren’t propositioning me for sex every couple of hours.”

I choke on my coffee, sputtering some onto the surface of the island. “I did not.”

“You most certainly did. Multiple times.” He forks a piece of waffle and blueberry into his mouth and chews, while meandering about the kitchen. “If I wasn’t trying to respect the side-of-the-bed boundary that you implemented as a rule, then I may have taken you up on your frequent offers.”

My mouth drops open. “No way.”

“No way?”

“You were the one who started snuggling up against me before I even fell asleep. And there’s no way I would be so brazen to beg for sex in my sleep.”

“I just want you to respect my whole self and not just worship my body.”

“Oh my goodness!” I belt out.

A huge smile bursts over Graham’s face, and I realize now that he is just teasing me. He’s just trying to get a reaction and it worked. I throw a chocolate chip at him, and he opens his mouth just in time to catch it on his tongue. That man never ceases to amaze me with what he can do with his mouth.

“Eat.”

His smirk brings a boyish sexiness to his features. His playfulness with me is only making him more attractive. I like this fun side to Graham. It balances out all the other times when he is an asshat bastard.

For once, I do as I am told without giving lip, rolling my eyes, or resisting. I cut off a piece of waffle with my fork, containing a little bit of each topping. I shovel it into my mouth and struggle to chew it with my mouth closed, but I have to give my compliments to the chef.

“You’re pretty”—I pause to chew a bit more—“good at this.”

“What can I say? You inspire me.”

“Inspire you how?” I ask with a laugh. “To not get takeout?”

He puts on a serious face. “Inspire me to not order my men to get me takeout.”

I roll my eyes.

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