Page 49 of Cold as Stone
“What about devastatingly handsome?”
“Strike two.”
“Irresistibly sexy?”
She snorts. “You’re pushing your luck, biker boy.”
I lean down to kiss her, but she plants a hand on my chest and pushes me back with surprising strength.
“Absolutely not,” she says firmly. “I have heinous morning breath. Like, could-kill-a-small-animal levels of bad.”
“I don’t care?—”
“I care. For both our sakes.” She covers her mouth with her hand, glaring at me over her fingers. “No kissing these lips until I’ve brushed my teeth. That’s the rule.”
I study her face, taking in the self-consciousness hiding behind the humor. Then I grin, slow and wicked.
“Fine,” I say, sliding down in the bed.
Before she can ask what I’m up to, I push up her oversized sleep shirt and press my mouth to the soft skin just below her ribs. She gasps, her hand flying to my hair.
“Lee—”
“You said no mouth kissing,” I murmur against her skin, trailing kisses across her stomach. “You didn’t say anything about kissing other places.”
Her laugh turns breathless as I work my way up, pressing soft kisses to the curve of her breast through her thin camisole. “That’s… that’s not what I meant and you know it.”
“Sue me,” I say, grinning up at her. “I’m a problem solver.”
She’s trying to look stern, but her fingers are already threading through my hair, holding me closer instead of pushing me away. “You’re trouble.”
“The best kind,” I agree, pressing one more kiss to her collarbone before flopping back down beside her. “But I’ll behave. For now.”
She shakes her head, but she’s smiling now, the self-consciousness replaced by something warmer. “You’re insufferable.”
“And you’re beautiful,” I say simply.
Pink floods her cheeks. “I look like I got hit by a truck.”
“You look like you spent the night being thoroughly kissed by someone who’s crazy about you,” I correct. “Which you did.”
She buries her face in her hands. “God, we’re disgustingly cute, aren’t we?”
“Disgustingly,” I agree, tugging her hands away from her face. “I’m thinking about making you pancakes. That’s how far gone I am.”
Her eyes light up. “You know how to make pancakes?”
“Woman, I was raised by a single dad with two kids. Of course I know how to make pancakes.” I roll out of bed, already missing her warmth. “The question is, do you have actual food in your kitchen, or just coffee and whatever sad desk lunch you’ve been surviving on?”
“I have food,” she protests, then pauses. “Okay, I have eggs. And milk and… is peanut butter food?”
I shake my head in mock disappointment. “City girl. Good thing I stopped at the store yesterday.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “You went grocery shopping? When? Where is this food?”
“Before I came here.” I shrug. “It’s in the pack on my bike. Wanted to make sure we had something for breakfast. Just in case.”
The look she gives me could power the entire town. Soft and amazed and tender in a way that makes my chest tight.
