After all, Troy Simpson’s standing at my stove, shirtless with just his jeans draped over his hips. His chest is sculpted and bronzed, his biceps bulging, and he’s wielding a frying pan like a pro. Those blue eyes glance up and catch sight of me, and he grins.
“Good morning, sweetheart. Sorry for the noise. I spilled some of that damned powdered sugar, but it’s good stuff, I’ll give you that. Can I get you some coffee?”
I nod, wordless. Is this a dream?
He merely grins again.
“Still waking up? I hope you’re hungry because I’ve made a lot. Maybe too much, come to think of it.”
The sizzling bacon on the stove causes my stomach to rumble noisily and Troy laughs at the sound.
“That answers that then. Here, have some Joe.”
The gorgeous alpha male pours coffee into one of my mugs and hands it over like this is his kitchen and not mine. I gulp gratefully. It’s strong, just the way I like it. Plus, once I’ve taken a couple sips of caffeine, my mind clears a little.
“You’re making breakfast.”
He nods, shooting me a sideway smile.
“Yes, I am. After last night, it’s the least I can do to thank you, honey.”
Troy winks at me. My cheeks flame, but I don’t feel nervous at all, which is strange. Usually, I get so tense and awkward around good-looking guys, but with Troy it’s different. Then again, the man has seen me nude on every surface in this house, including the counter in this kitchen. Is that a butt-print leftover from last night? Eew! But then I laugh because the sex was amazing and after that, there’s no way I’m going to be awkward.
“I’ve never had a man make me breakfast before,” I say lightly.
He merely grins cheekily again.
“Seems like we’re in for a lot of firsts.”
I blush again. He said something similar last night as he was licking my bottom. I was scandalous that someone would taste my dark rose that way, but he liked it and couldn’t get enough. Frankly, the memory is scandalous, but if I’m being honest, I’m hoping this breakfast leads to another repeat of last night.
“I hope you don’t mind that I used some ingredients from your kitchen,” he remarks. “You keep things well-stocked around here.”
I laugh. “I prefer to cook at home rather than get takeout. I guess my parents instilled the habit in me because it’s much healthier to cook for yourself. Believe it or not, restaurant food is chock full of salt, sugar and oil. Plus, we couldn’t usually afford to eat out much anyways. When you’ve got four kids, you’ve got to spend wisely.”
Troy looks up at me.
“You’re one of four?”
“Yep,” I nod happily. “I have three little brothers. Les, Winston, and Mikey. They’re amazing, even if they’re pains in the butt.”
He lets out a throaty chuckle.
“Yeah, kid brothers can be that way. Just ask Travis, and he’ll tell you that I was more than a pain – I was an asshole. But I have the opposite problem when it comes to cooking. I prefer to cook because I ate out all the time as a kid. Even now, I’m traveling so much for work that I rarely get the chance to enjoy a home-cooked meal, so it’s a treat when I can stand in front of a stove.”
I inhale deeply.
“Well, whatever you’re making smells delicious.”
“It’s just pancakes, bacon, scrambled eggs, and toast. Nothing too fancy.”
“It sounds perfect.”
“Good,” he grins. “It’ll be ready in just a few minutes. Should I put another pot of coffee on?”
I finish my first cup. “Yes, please. I usually drink about five cups per day, and I’m going to need even more today. I’m exhausted.”
Troy meets my eyes with a devious grin. “Me too, sweetheart. That’s good to hear.”
I have to look away, my cheeks flaming. OMG, we were up all night making love, and even the allusion to it makes me tingle. I try to focus on anything but Troy, but it’s impossible when he’s so huge. In desperation, I look into my living room. The apartment is small and the living area and kitchen are basically the same space, with only a half wall separating them. But when I look at my living space, I gasp. The couch is crooked, the coffee table’s at a diagonal, and several cushions are strewn carelessly on the floor.
Plus there, on the lamp, dangle last night’s panties.
Oh my goodness! How did they end up there? I remember Troy taking off my clothes, but I don’t remember him throwing my panties like he was throwing a lasso!
I place my mug down and stroll into the living room, acting as if nothing’s wrong. I shift the couch and table back to where they belong before sauntering over to the lamp casually. But before I can snatch them, Troy’s voice interrupts me.