Page 178 of Severed Heart
“Soldier, I think maybe I’m too old to call a man a boyfriend.” Firing up the stove, I toss a pat of butter into my new frying pan. “And we both know lover is just ...not true,” I grumble aggravatedly. “Connard.”
“Connard, huh?” Tyler chuckles as I jump out of my skin.
“FUCK!” I turn and push at his chest where he stands directly behind me. “How did you get so close? I didn’t even sense you!”
“Careful, baby, or you’ll be cooking your hair first,” he says, reaching behind me to turn off the gas burner. “And I’ve been doing that trick for years.”
I narrow my eyes. “What trick?”
“Getting this close to you without you aware of it,” he muses, popping a chopped grape from the bowl of fruit I just cut into his mouth.
“Getting close when, like at night, in my room?” I ask, eyes wide.
“No, you assuming asshole, like in the bright light of day,” he whispers, his eyes softening. “And every fucking chance I got.”
“What would you do?”
“Get close enough to get a good whiff of that light musk you wore,” he whispers, his eyes drilling into mine as he slowly lifts me onto the counter.
“I’m cooking,” I remind him, in awe of the ease with which he lifts me.
“What was that?” he asks.
“What?” I utter, distracted by how gorgeous he looks freshly showered, his lashes and hair still damp, darker.
“The perfume you wore.”
“Oh, I don’t remember,” I say honestly. “An old roll-on I think I had in my nightstand from AVON.” I widen my eyes. “An old lady perfume.”
“You’re being a little ageist today. Why can’t you call me your boyfriend?”
“It feels... juvenile, non?”
“Maybe it would be juvenile if I were twice your age, and it’s better than connard,” he murmurs. Tucking his fingers into my pajama bottoms and panties, he presses a hot kiss to the bared shoulder that my thin, long-sleeved pajama top hangs from.
“Non, Soldier, do not start this. You will be late for work.”
“It’s a good thing I’m my own boss.” He rakes his lower lip with his teeth as his rapidly heating gaze roams over me. “And it’s a shame about the perfume because it drove me fucking crazy.”
“I’m cooking your breakfast.” I lightly push at his chest as he begins to stroke the sensitive skin he has leveraged into my pajama bottoms and panties.
“I can see that. What’s in there?” He nods toward a bowl.
“Lemon crème,” I utter, getting lost in the length of his lashes. “It’s for your fruit.”
“Can I have a taste?”
“Hmm,” I say, reaching back to put a little on my finger before holding it up to his lips. He sucks it off seductively, closing his eyes just after.
“Not just saying this, it’s really good, baby.”
“I know.” I smile. “This recipe I remember.” I tap my temple. “It’s simple.”
“Yeah?” he murmurs, his eyes smoldering as he surrounds me. “What else is on the menu?”
“Non.” I shake my head. “Not me today. You aren’t torturing me before you leave for work. I won’t endure that again.”
“You won’t, huh?”
