Page 90 of Darling Obsession

“Just making your coffee.”

“What happened to the staff making it?”

“Thought I’d do it myself.”

Okay… he’s making coffee for me. I fucking love it when guys do that.

I don’t know quite what to do with this. Harlan, freshly showered and fully dressed in a fine black suit, making coffee for me. While Tears for Fears plays.

“What’s with the music? You don’t seem like a music guy.”

He frowns. “I’m not sure what that means. I like music.”

“This music?” I say doubtfully.

He shrugs. “Eighties pop seems to be your thing.”

I watch him pour milk into a metal jug, the kind you steam milk in, reeling a little over the facts that a) he noticed the music I listen to, and b) he’s playing it right now… for me?

“Actually, it’s my mom’s thing,” I say uneasily. “She’s been listening to the same songs for decades, which means they’ve been infused into my DNA. I can’t not listen to them.”

He glances at me. “You don’t like it?”

“I do like it. It reminds me of her.” I change the subject; that’s really all I’m willing to say. We got personal enough chatting in his bed last night. I don’t even know quite how that happened. “And by the way, where are we?”

“I thought you were a baker,” he says dryly. “Is a latte okay?”

“You can make a latte?” I exaggerate what is legit surprise. “And clearly it’s a kitchen,” I add, equally dry.

“There’s a machine,” he says, taking the jug of milk over to the steamer, where he starts foaming it.

“Since when do you have two kitchens?”

“Since the people who built the house put in two kitchens?” he says, deadpan.

“I don’t think I like you in the morning.”

The monster smiles at me as he foams our milk.

“I was thinking,” he says.

“Great.”

“What?”

“Well, last time you did some thinking, you decided it would be grand to blackmail me into being your fake lover. And we both know how that turned out for me.”

“It may surprise you to know, Quinn Monroe, that I’ve actually done other thinking since then. I do it daily.”

“How impressive!” I bat my eyelashes.

He frowns. “As I was saying, I was thinking. We could keep having sex. If you want to.”

“Oh.Wow.How generous. Thank you so much for that offer.” I could not put more sarcasm into that sentence if someone had a gun to my head.

He looks slightly affronted. “You don’t have to be rude about it. You can say no.”

“I can? Gee, thanks for the permission.”

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