Page 68 of Sugar Coated Lies
Movement in the kitchen draws my gaze. Daire stands near a coffee machine, his back to me. He’s wearing black pajama pants and nothing else. That body is truly a work of art.
I stroll to the kitchen and stop at the large peninsula housing the barstools and separating me from Daire.
“Hi.” My voice sounds shy even to me.
He whirls around, his gaze drinking me in with admiration. A smile tilts one side of his mouth. “Hi.”
I bite my lip as my gaze rakes over his sculpted chest and abs.
“Come here.” Daire beckons me over.
I stop in front of him, leaving a foot or two of distance, not wanting to crowd him. He gobbles that distance up in one step and cups my cheeks before planting a gentle kiss on my lips.
I wasn’t expecting it or the way my heart rushes with excitement at his nearness and touch.
“How do you feel?”
Confused. Part of me is in misery, while another part is in bliss. I settle for saying, “Better than yesterday.”
He nods, his gaze sympathetic. “Would you like some coffee?”
“That’s my line.” I give him a slight grin.
His mint-green eyes light up. “Not today.” He turns and continues to make the coffee.
I watch him as I step back and lean against the counter behind me.
Daire removes pecan creamer from the fridge and sugar from a cabinet. He sets out two black mugs and fills them. “Froth?”
The fancy coffee maker has everything. I almost treat myself to some like I do at the cafe on occasion. “No, thanks.”
“Cream and sugar?”
“Yes, please.” My boss is serving me coffee. How weird is this?
He adds both, looking like aMagic Mikebarista, and hands me the coffee mug.
“Thank you.” I take it.
“No problem.” He sips his coffee, both of us leaning against the counters opposite each other. His eyes stay on mine.
“Thank you for yesterday,” I murmur into my mug and glance up through my lashes.
He smirks as if remembering certain parts of yesterday—last night—but then softens his expression when he says, “Any time, Everleigh. Any time.”
Meaning he’s open to repeating last night. I could be open to it. Who am I kidding? I could be open to doing it—him—every night. How can my head be in the bedroom? Am I using it as a distraction so I don’t have to deal with my heartache? Is that wrong?
“Want breakfast?” Daire asks.
“Your fridge is pretty bare,” I point out.
He grins. “Actually, it’s stocked with leftover Chinese food, but that’s not what I’m referring to. I know a great breakfast place up the street.”
My gaze shifts to the windows and view behind him. Am I ready to leave this safe bubble?
“Or we can stay here,” Daire adds. “Whatever you’re up for.”
“Don’t you have to get back to the farm?”
