Page 57 of Star-Crossed
Oh balls. He’d wanted more last night—she’dwanted more—and she’d fallen asleep on him.
She sat up with a yawn, noting the empty space beside her. The sheets were still warm, so Cy couldn’t have been up too long.
The aroma of bacon and coffee wafted under the door, and her stomach rumbled in response.
Swinging her legs off the side of the bed, she searched for her clothes, only to realize they were scattered somewhere by the front door. Heat infused her face as she recalled how they’d torn at each other’s clothes in their haste to fuck.
Before last night, she thought that was only something people did in the movies.
Finger-combing her hair, she glanced around the room, trying to orient herself to a morning after she’d not expected in a million years.
Cy had a clean but spare main suite done in what she’d call bachelor chic. Solid colors, white sheets and walls. A few Salish renderings of totemic animals hung on the far wall, and she’d almost bet it was the only art in the house.
Spying one of Cy’s flannel shirts draped over a chair, she shrugged it on and slid out the bedroom door. Not feeling ready to face the kitchen yet, she wandered down the long hall, peeking into any doors left ajar. The cabin was rustic and lovely, passably neat but with a clutter of knickknacks that were obviously gifts, heirlooms, or useful items. She found another bathroom. Spare bedroom.
And then pressed the door open to Cy’s office.
Lyra gasped in awe as she stepped into the room. She had expected to find a typical, manly office: perhaps a toolbox, some hunting and fishing paraphernalia. But this…this was something else entirely.
The room was crammed with shelves of books and magazines devoted to robotics, artificial intelligence, computing technology, and other advanced topics. Atop the desk sat two large monitors connected to a tower computer with an array of blinking lights that indicated it was still running. There was also a variety of gadgets—a 3D printer, soldering irons, and wires lined in neat rows.
Someone had died and gone to nerd heaven in here.
And that someone had knocked on her womb last night.
Lyra slowly made her way along the wall of books, admiring the titles as she passed them. There were textbooks on coding languages and mathematical concepts, engineering manuals, biographies of inventors, encyclopedias of science, articles on emerging technologies, entire tomes devoted to topics like robotics or biology… The sheer amount of knowledge housed in this single room was staggering.
She rounded a corner, eyes widening when they landed on a poster hung at eye level: a detailed schematic diagram of a robotic limb—a project close to Cy’s heart, no doubt.
Several shelves next to the PC were lined with figures—all variations of the similar models: a human soldier, armed and decked in futuristic gear. Some were painted, others cast from metal and polished to a shine, and still others posed on multi-jointed robotic limbs. It looked like they were fighting in some kind of futuristic war.
Holy shit. Cy Forrester, football star and outdoorsy hottie, was…a gigantic fucking nerd.
Like he needed anything else to make him hotter.
Suddenly self-conscious about snooping around his workplace without permission, Lyra quickly backed out into the hallway.
She didn’t need to know this about him right now… Not when her heart was so oddly squishy.
Drifting back toward the main area, she found that the cozy living room easily flowed into the open-space kitchen. Cy stood at the stove, shirtless and barefoot, maneuvering a skillet with the ease of long practice.
Her heart did a funny little flip-flop at the domesticity of it all. The thought of waking up to this every morning was dangerously appealing.
And there was the problem.
Domesticity wasn’t her goal. Commitment inevitably led to hurt, and she’d had enough of that pain and bother to last a lifetime.
Besides, Townsend Harbor was just a waystation. Not a final destination by any means. She couldn’t get stuck here.
As much as she might wish otherwise, this thing with Cy was temporary. A casual fling to satisfy her curiosity and slake her lust. Nothing more.
Squaring her shoulders, she steeled herself against the unwelcome ache in her chest. By the time Cy glanced over his shoulder with a smile, she had her defenses in place.
“Morning,” he said, dishing pancakes onto two plates. “Sleep well?”
“Like the dead.” Lyra took a seat at the table, shoring up her walls with every breath. “Smells delicious.”
Casual and carefree. That was the name of the game. No matter what her traitorous heart—and newly lusty lady bits— might want.
