Page 141 of Wicked Sexy (Wicked Games 2)
I take a bite of the bacon—it’s chewy and meaty, perfectly cooked—and moan in happiness.
Connor rounds the island, sweeps my hair off my shoulder, and kisses me on the temple. “Eat up, sweetheart. You’re too thin.”
I stuff the rest of the bacon in my mouth. Between chews, I say, “That’s probably the most romantic thing a man could ever say to a woman.”
Connor leans one elbow on the island and cups my face in his hand. His look changes from teasing to contemplative. He strokes his thumb over my cheek.
Feeling uneasy, I swallow. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
It’s a moment before he answers. Streaming through the windows, the sun worships him, glinting mink and gold in his dark hair, bronzing his skin, sculpting his impressive abdominal muscles in highlights and shadow.
“Juanita sent me a text a few minutes ago.”
I drop the bacon and sit up ramrod straight. “Is she okay?”
I’ve seen her several times since returning to New York. The first was at her house a week after we returned from Alaska. Her mother didn’t want to let me in, but her siblings convinced her to. Juanita was in far better spirits than I would’ve been in her shoes. With her pet rat, Elvis, perched on her head, she told me how she’d been on her way back from my house the night she threw the switch, when she’d been nabbed on the street by a group of men in combat gear. A van had pulled up alongside her, they’d swarmed out, and that was all she remembered until she woke up in the caves. I’d hugged her and told her I loved her. She’d laughed and told me to suck a bag of dicks.
Then she showed me the scar on her back—sixty stiches, raw and red—and I broke down and cried.
She rolled her eyes and told me not to be such a pussy.
“She’s fine,” Connor reassures me in a soothing voice, caressing my cheek. “She’s great, actually. She just wanted to find out what time she should come over for our barbeque tomorrow.”
My body sags in relief. I wonder if this is what it feels like to have kids, this constant, sick feeling of worry.
“Oh. Thank God. So why do you look so weird?”
“Do I?”
“Very.”
He smiles. “So I’m obese, cruel, and weird-looking. You poor thing. How do you put up with me?”
“Bacon,” I say seriously. “You make excellent bacon. It’s your one saving grace.”
“Aside from Zeus,” he answers in the same serious tone.
I nod. “Exactly. Now explain your face, please.”
He tugs on a lock of my hair. “Maybe I was just thinking about how much I like the color red.”
I shake my head. “Nice try.”
He looks at the ceiling, pretending to think. “Maybe I was contemplating what I should make you for dessert.”
“Dessert after breakfast? You know you’re a really bad liar, right?”
His eyes meet mine, and his smile fades. His voice drops an octave when he says, “Maybe I was wondering when you were going to put your townhouse on the market.”
“Oh. That.”
When I look down at my plate of food, Connor puts his knuckle under my chin and forces me to meet his eyes. “Yes. That.”
“Um. I can’t yet.”
His brows shoot up. “Why not? You expecting to move back in?”
“No. I mean, I hope not.”
