Page 95 of Legacy of Danger
Chapter 27
Mariah woke to a light knock at the door, followed by the aromas of bacon, pancakes, eggs, and coffee.
Wait.
And coffee?
She went from REM sleep to bloodhound alert in a split second and sat bolt upright. The bedside clock read 7:00 a.m. On the laminate wood desk was an impressive spread of steaming breakfast dishes. A sheepish Vaughn was pulling metal lids off the plates. He had his slacks on but nothing else. The fashion choice worked for him.
"And a good morning to you." He surveyed her and licked his lips, reminding Mariah to pull the sheet up. "Not that I am complaining about the view one bit."
"Oh wow. I need..."
He picked up a mug full of mocha heaven. "This?"
"Gimme. Please."
"It will cost you a kiss."
"I'll pay. Anything."
He sat next to her and did some magic trick with his lips and mouth that set her synapses on fire faster than a double shot of espresso. "Yes, it is a good morning."
A few sips of bliss later, she leaned back on the pillows. "That's a lot of food."
With a shrug, he said, "Didn't know what kind of breakfast you liked, so I ordered one of everything on the room service menu." He closed one eye. "Minus the mimosas." He opened that eye, then cringed. "But I'll order some if you really want."
"No thanks." She clutched the mug to her sternum, prepared to die before letting go of the beverage. "This is perfect."
"Obviously. I'm kind of jealous of the mug."
"Give me another few sips and I will be able to respond."
His laugh filled the room as he hovered over the spread of food. "Do you mind if I dig in? I'm kind of hungry."
"Save me a few pancakes and eggs. Everything else is fair game. You earned it."
"From the fight or from last night?"
How many rounds did they go? She'd lost track after her fourth orgasm. Her cheeks warmed. "Both," she mumbled.
Swaggering like a fighter who won the championship belt, he piled a plate and sat in the office chair, facing her.
After a few minutes, she set the mug down. It was almost like letting a family member go.
"Want some food?" he asked before starting into his second plate.
"Sure."
He handed her the plate and fork and resettled in the chair. The dark ink shifted as he adjusted his position in the seat.
"What's that mean?" She pointed.
Setting the fork down, he glanced at his chest. "Which one?"
"All of it." At a flash of his pain, she blurted, "Unless you don't want to tell me, and that's okay."
"Um, no. It's not like anything on my body is a secret anymore."
