Page 42 of Cruel Hero

Her fingers trace my jawline, her touch is feather-light but electric. “You’re going to spoil me.”

“You deserve it.” I capture her hand, pressing a kiss to her palm. “And more. But for now, let’s start with breakfast. I’ll whip us up something while you shower.”

She raises an eyebrow. “You? Cook? I didn’t know you even knew how to boil water.”

I smirk, leaning in to brush my lips against hers. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me yet, Tiffany. But don’t worry, you’ll have plenty of time to find out.”

The kitchen smells of sizzling bacon and freshly brewed coffee as I flip the pancakes. Tiffany pads into the kitchen, her damp curls framing her face, and she’s wrapped in one of my oversized shirts that hangs just past her thighs. The sight of her like this—soft, relaxed, and so utterly mine—sends a surge of warmth through me.

“Smells amazing.” She slides onto a stool at the island counter. Her eyes scan the spread—golden pancakes, crispy bacon, and a bowl of fresh berries. “When did you become a professional cook?”

“I have hidden talents,” I reply, setting the plate in front of her. “Besides, I couldn’t have you thinking I’m entirely useless in the kitchen.”

She grins, picking up her fork. “Consider me impressed.”

I pour her a cup of black coffee, no sugar—just the way she likes it—and slide it across the counter. She takes a sip, her eyes closing briefly in appreciation. “Perfect.”

The easy banter between us feels natural and comfortable like we’ve done this a thousand times before. It’s also not something I’m used to. Most mornings are solitary, quiet affairs. But with Tiffany here, the kitchen feels alive, filled with a warmth I didn’t realize was missing until now.

As we eat, the morning light filters through the windows, casting a warm glow over the kitchen. The easy silence between us is comfortable, filled with the kind of intimacy that comes from shared moments like this.

She takes a bite of pancake, her eyes lighting up. “Okay, you’re officially banned from hiding your skills. These are incredible.”

I chuckle, leaning against the counter with my own coffee in hand. “Consider it a perk of moving in with me.”

She laughs. “What’s on the agenda for today? Other than packing up my entire life and moving it here?”

“First, breakfast. Then, Luis will handle the logistics of moving your things. You won’t need to lift a finger unless you want to.”

“Control freak.”

“Guilty,” I admit without hesitation. “But only when it comes to you.”

Her cheeks flush slightly at that, and she ducks her head, focusing on her plate. It’s a rare sight—Tiffany Carter, momentarily speechless. I find it endlessly endearing.

“After that,” I continue, setting my mug down. “I have a meeting with my team in an hour. Do you want to come with me?”

“I wanted to drop by the Millhouse Gallery and talk to Olivia. I should tell her about Lucas and... well, you.”

“You want to tell her about me?” I can’t help the smirk tugging at the corners of my lips. “Should I be worried?”

Tiffany rolls her eyes. “Don’t let it go to your head, Leroy. But yes, she deserves to know. I don’t want to keep her in the dark anymore. Plus, she’s suspicious enough as it is. If I don’t tell her, she’ll probably start her own investigation.”

“How much are you going to tell her?”

She hesitates, swirling her fork absently in the syrup pooling on her plate. “Enough,” she says finally. “I’ll tell her about us, about the trouble Dean was involved in, and that we’re working to set things right. But I’ll keep the details vague—for her safety, and ours. She doesn’t need to know everything. Not yet.”

I nod. Olivia is sharp, and her protective instincts for Tiffany are as fierce as mine. But the less she knows about the darker aspects of Dean’s dealings, the better. “Fair enough. Just be careful with what you share. The fewer people who know the full picture, the safer we all are,” I say, pulling out my phone to text Luis. “Luis accompany you to the gallery.”

Tiffany looks like she wants to protest but then thinks better of it. “Alright. I suppose extra security isn’t a bad idea, given the circumstances.”

“I’ll feel better knowing you’re protected.” I push off the counter, moving to stand behind her.

“You trust Luis a whole lot for someone who’s technically your employee.”

“Luis isn’t just an employee,” I reply, my fingers absently tracing the line of her spine. “He’s my godfather and one of the few people I’d trust with my life—and yours.”

“Your godfather?”

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