Page 38 of Deadly Secrets
“I figured you squeezed your own juice.”
“You don’t like it?”
Laughter bubbled up. “I’m teasing. It’s just…easier to talk about orange juice than shooting someone.”
He plopped back down on his seat and turned toward her. “True, but I’m not letting you off the hook. I’m taking you to the gun range after breakfast. No one on my taskforce walks around being vulnerable to a serial killer.”
“But—”
“Once I show you how to handle a weapon, you won’t be scared of it anymore. You’ll know how—and when—to use it properly to protect yourself.”
He was so confident, so sure of his talents and skills, she believed him. “You’re not afraid I’ll shoot you or someone on the team by accident?”
“No.”
Total confidence in her this time. She relaxed slightly. “Your bed is amazing. I didn’t think I’d be able to, but I slept like a baby.”
He went back to his omelet, scooping up a large bite. “Maybe we can make a deal, an arrangement, doc.”
She liked when he called her doc. It was cute, a nickname that she rarely appreciated, but with him it was…friendly.
His eyes cut sideways to look at her from his peripheral vision.
Okay, maybe a little more than friendly.
“What kind of arrangement?” she asked.
“You fix me a breakfast like this every morning and I’ll let you stay in my bed every night.”
Heat shot straight down her spine. His bed.Every.Night. “Um, it’s just eggs with ham and cheese in them, not Breakfast at Tiffany’s.”
“It’s my favorite type of omelet.”
“Don’t you cook?”
He snagged another piece of toast and slathered it with jelly. “Not if I can help it.”
“Seriously?”
“What?” He shot her an incredulous look. “I burn everything.”
He had to be kidding. Mr. Perfect, with his gourmet kitchen, didn’t cook for himself? “The only people who install a top of the line kitchen like this either want to impress a lot of pretentious people or they really enjoy cooking. You’re not the pretentious people kind of guy.”
The last piece of toast received a thick layer of jelly and he handed it to her. “You sure about that?”
She accepted the toast and took a bite, sticky jelly ending up in the corner of her mouth. With her tongue, she licked it off. “Positive.”
His gaze locked on her mouth. “Do we have a deal, doc?”
The tiny furnace in her lower belly kicked the heat up a notch and Brooke found herself nodding. Another night in Roman’s bed…what could it hurt? “Pancakes tomorrow?”
He grinned and touched her toast with his half-eaten piece as if clinking wine glasses together. “I love pancakes.”
They finished breakfast and cleaned up the dishes, talking about normal things—the weather, their favorite meals, why Roman had such a big house.
“Did your long lost, billionaire uncle die and leave you his fortune?” Brooke asked, putting the last plate in the dishwasher.
He gave her a confused smile. “What?”
