Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 131459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
“Maybe Chloe’s secret operative is also an assassin, and I can talk him into doing a hit on you,” she stated. “No. And we’re done. Say goodbye, Nora.” After that, she let out an, “Ugh,” he heard her phone drop to the floor, then she slithered back over his chest.
She caught his gaze and stopped.
“Please, don’t use my daughter’s human meddling tool to kill your best friend,” he requested.
“You’re awake.”
“And she’s acutely perceptive first thing in the morning,” he teased.
She halfheartedly slapped his chest.
He kept teasing. “I could hardly remain asleep with you lying on top of me and yapping on the phone.”
She arched her brows. “Yapping?”
He folded his arms around her and pulled her up his chest so they were face to face.
“Yapping,” he whispered, and she watched his mouth do it.
He let her kiss him.
When he was done doing that, he rolled so he was on top and kissed her.
He stopped when something wet registered against his hip.
When he pulled away, though not far, she shared, “I think one of the condoms got lost in the sheets.”
“Great,” he murmured, moving them out of the wet spot.
“Do you want me to make you breakfast?” she asked.
“No, I want to make you breakfast.”
Her mouth turned down. “You’ve already cooked for me.”
His brows went up. “Is this a one-night stand?”
“No,” she stated firmly.
No.
It was not.
“I’m making you breakfast,” he decreed.
“Whatever,” she said to his ear.
“Mika?”
Her gaze came to his.
He drew in a breath.
And then he asked an important question.
“Do you know what you’re doing?”
Her expression grew soft, sheer beauty in his bed, and she pressed deep into him before she replied.
“Yes, Dr. Pierce. I know exactly what I’m doing.”
CHAPTER 13
THE PANCAKES
Mika
The good news, the kittens were no worse for our abandonment during the fuckathon.
All five of them were now hale and hearty, weaned from the bottle and litter trained (or, for that last part, it was, according to Tom, “mostly”).
Once we made it to the kitchen, and ushered them in with us, we were gated.
They then happily frolicked across Tom’s tiles with their plethora of toys, access to the boxes in Tom’s utility room, with bellies full from stuffing their little kitten faces from a line of kitty dishes at the floor-to-ceiling windows that Tom forked kitten food into before he even made coffee.
So, obviously, I started the coffee.
The other good news?
There was no bad news.
Tom let me help cook, and I was on bacon duty while he made fluffy blueberry pancakes.
We sat at his island to eat.
He made great spaghetti.
But his blueberry pancakes were insane.
“Okay, now I’m glad you didn’t let me cook,” I said with mouth full.
“Not good at pancakes?” he asked.
I lifted a loaded, dripping fork. “Not this good.”
He smiled and took his own bite.
“Should we get through the tough stuff, or should we wallow in a haze of fantastic sex and mind-blowing blueberry pancakes?” I queried half-jokingly.
His gaze slid to me.
And it was all serious.
“I don’t want Winston in this, honey.”
Having a moment to consider it, I realized I was way down with that.
Thus, I nodded. “Okay.”
“And my guess is, you’re not ever going to flirt with another man in front of me, yes?”
Well, there you go.
He went right after that one.
I pressed my lips together and nodded again.
“How about that be all the tough stuff we cover for now?” he suggested.
“So you were pissed about the flirting,” I noted.
“Livid.”
He crunched into some bacon.
I felt my eyes crinkle.
“You’re sooo into me,” I teased.
“Yes,” he said simply.
The crinkles disappeared and a lump formed in my throat.
And that was it. No fanfare. No prevarication. No games.
But that was all there needed to be.
This man.
I had him.
Finally, he was mine.
Yes.
“I can’t say I’m the jealous type, though I prefer not to be given any reason to be,” he continued. “Obviously, we need to put time into feeling this out. You don’t live in Arizona. I do. You have your daughter still at home with you. I have commitments that mean travel. But I hope, after exploring and time spent together, we can come to the point where we feel solid. That said, what you did with Jamie wasn’t okay. I was married for a long time. I was out of the game. When I was back in it, I realized I’m not a player either.”
I did not doubt this.
What had been going on with him when he was being distant with me (also, lest we forget, a dick) was something else.
Something I’d allow to get lost in the haze of sex and pancakes.
But after that lifted, we needed to talk.
However…
“I was hurting because you were ghosting me, yet I was right here, in your kitchen, cooking with your daughter,” I explained.
“I was working through some things which evidently needed you jumping my bones to shake loose.”
I rolled my eyes.
When I rolled them back, he was smiling.