Page 30 of Loving Lex

He turned to find me ogling. “You just gonna lie there and enjoy the show or you gonna get yourself dressed and come eat?”

I shrugged, letting the sheet drop to expose my bare chest. “Not sure.”

His hot gaze dropped to my breasts. “You, my duchess, are a tease, but I’m made of stronger stuff than that.” He opened my dresser and tossed me a shirt. “Get dressed. I’ll see you over there.”

Then, with a wink, he was gone.

I took a few minutes to get myself cleaned up and emotionally put together before heading over to his place. I knocked and let myself in at his call.

I found him in the kitchen, just getting the omelets poured into the sizzling skillet.

He glanced up. “You a coffee girl?”

“I am.”

He nodded to his coffee maker. “Help yourself, then have a seat. These will be ready in just a sec.”

I grabbed my coffee, doctored it up with cream and sugar, then sat and watched him flip the omelets with expert precision, not quite sure how my life had ended up here. My family’s words rang in my head—that I was pampered and petty, not worth anything beyond my father’s handouts. But now, strangely, as I was starting to get the hang of a job—sort of—and prove to myself that I could make my own way, Lex’s words were beginning to hold much more weight.

From where I stand, you’re so much more...

He’d called me smart. Funny. Kind.

Worthy.

And now he was cooking for me.

“Bon Appetit, Duchess.” He slid the plate in front of me with a kiss to my forehead, breaking into my thoughts. “Save all marriage proposals until after you finish.”

I glanced up at his cocky grin. “Confident, much?”

He grabbed his own plate and sat across from me. “Definitely.”

I just laughed and forked up a bite.

And he was right. Fluffy, cheesy, heavenly perfection. A man who looked like him, kissed like him, with a heart as big as his, that could cook? Definite proposal material... if I was looking for that kind of thing, of course.

He demolished his food, then popped open a pill bottle. At my inquisitive look, he explained, “For my headaches.” He swallowed them back, then, looking supremely self-satisfied, took in my empty plate. “How was it?”

I shrugged, going for nonchalant. “It was edible.”

His eyes grew large. “Edible?”

I stood and took both of our plates to the sink to hide my grin. “Thanks for cooking. I’ll clean up—” My words were cut off with a squeal as he hauled me up by the waist from behind, his lips at my ear.

“Edible, Duchess?” he murmured, his breath hot. “I think you must be talking about yourself.”

I began to squirm, laughing as his teeth nipped at my neck. “Are we feeling needy?”

“Never,” he said against my skin.

“Really?”

“Maybe.”

I laughed, relishing the warmth as I turned in his arms. I expected the tease to match in his eyes, but there was something else warring in there. “I’m joking, Johnny,” I said, sliding my fingers around to the back of his neck. “You are the omelet master.”

He shook his head minutely. “I’m not looking for—” He blew out a breath. “Never mind.”

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