Page 79 of Resisting Isaac
“Eat first,” he commands. He glances over his shoulder, and the second he sees me, his grin blooms across his face like sunlight over the horizon.
I roll my eyes, but there’s no heat in it. “You’re not supposed to feed the strays.”
“Too late.”
He slides a plate onto the counter and pours me a mug of coffee. “I even looked up a recipe for huevos rancheros to impress your ass. But full disclosure, I had to text the ranch cook, Miss Lottie, for help.”
I raise a brow, taking the mug. “Seems like a lot of effort for little ol’ me.”
“They probably taste terrible. But I make up for it with charm and biceps.”
I take a sip, smirking. “Do you ever turn the charm off and just be like?—”
“A dick?” He shrugs. “Nah, I leave that to Wyatt.”
I choke on my coffee. “A regular guy, cowboy. Not that I don’t appreciate the golden retriever energy. It just seems…exhausting.”
He grins as he delivers a plate of food in front of me. “It’s not exhausting if it’s your nature. I’m sure you nearly give yourself an aneurysm trying to be friendly because you dislike the entire human race. Which I get, for the record.”
“Not all of the human race,” I grumble. But he’s not wrong.
He leans against the counter, arms crossed over his barechest. “Oh I know, baby. You might give everyone else the cold shoulder, but I’ve seen you on your knees begging for me like a good girl.”
“Jesus, Isaac. It’s like seven in the morning.” My cheeks flush, and his gaze softens.
“Don’t worry, spitfire. I won’t tell anyone.” He nods at my plate. “You gonna eat or you want to sit in my lap and let me hand feed you, because we both know I will.”
Something flickers in my stomach. A truth I’m not ready to say out loud but I feel in every nerve ending.
I like the attention he gives me, I love it actually. I crave it. The way he manages to be both sweet and nurturing while keeping his filthy intentions at the forefront.
The way he put my needs first last night even though I would’ve pushed past my exhaustion and ridden him until sunrise if he’d made a move. I suspect if I allow myself to indulge in this behavior much longer, I’ll have a serious problem. I’ll become addicted to Isaac Logan, to the charming cowboy no one can tame, to pretending I’ve tamed him if only for a little while.
My heart races in my chest as the reality of the situation sets in. I have to get out of here. Not just this kitchen. But this ranch, this state, maybe even this time zone. I don’t know how much distance I’ll need to put between us to break this magnetic pull he has on me, but I’m going to need to find out. Soon.
As if he can sense my impending panic attack, he places a hand on mine. My eyes meet his, and he’s serious for once. “I can’t cook like you. But at least take a few bites so you don’t wound my pride.”
I grin and exhale the pressure building in my chest. “It smells amazing actually.”
He nods. “Good. Eat. And after, if you’re good, I might let you lick my spatula.”
I give him a look. “That’s what we’re calling it now?”
He winks. “Depends on how much hot sauce you put on your eggs.”
I’m halfway through my second bite when it hits me.
Nausea.
Not a slow wave, not a gentle rolling seasick feeling like I’ve had after too many late-night craft cart meals. No, this is a sucker punch from the inside out.
Hot. Immediate. Unforgiving.
I shove back from the table so fast my chair screeches against the hardwood.
Isaac startles, fork halfway to his mouth.
“Elena?”
