Page 304 of Branded
But, as I’d established, he was smart and presumably saw that I wasn’t going to budge on him paying for our food and Ethan’s souvenir.
“You weren’t planning on it,” he pointed out. “I know it’s hard when expenses pop up out of nowhere.”
He was right. I hadn’t planned on taking Ethan to a Breakers game.
But I was going to buy my kid expensive chicken strips and popcorn and cotton candy and one of those maniacal wave-shaped stuffed mascots as well, anyway.
Because Ethan didn’t get opportunities like this very often.
So, I was going for it—even though it came from a man who had broken into my apartment…and made pancakes.
“You know I’m going to change the code, right?” I told him archly.
A grin that should have melted my clothes right off me before he turned back and began scrubbing the pan, the bowl, Ethan’s plate and fork. “You’ll tell me the new one.”
I narrowed my eyes. “And you know I don’t date hockey players.”
That grin didn’t fade as he set the dishes on the drying rack. “Who said I want to date you?”
Ouch.
But I didn’t let that hurt show, just went to my purse, words more than a little terse when I said, “I’ll remind you that you asked me out.”
He shut off the water, dried his hands on a towel. “Yeah,” he said. “I did.” He closed the distance between us, the warmth of his body searing me through our clothes, the spicy scent of him in my nose. “I don’t want to date you, gorgeous,” he murmured, trailing his knuckles over my cheek, even as his words sliced through me.
Ouch again.
“I want to keep you.”
Those words weren’t a slice.
They were warmth, no heat, no…an inferno.
I shuddered, my body leaning against his. “Cas?—”
His lips brushed mine.
That inferno exploded, a sudden gust of oxygen, gasoline on flames, fuel for the fire burning in me.
I rose on tiptoe, pressed my mouth to his, got a taste of tongue and teeth and need.
But when I went for more, he pulled back, brushed his knuckles over my cheek. “You need to get Ethan to school, gorgeous.”
No.
I needed to kiss him again.
My fingers gripped his T-shirt. “Cas?—”
A press of his lips to my forehead and then he was gone, the front door closing behind him a moment later.
“Shit,” I whispered, trying to get myself together by smoothing my hand over my hair, my shirt, the front of my sweats.
I felt something crinkle.
Reached into my pocket.
And pulled out that damned hundred-dollar bill.
