Romances where hunky guys like you tie me to the bed and have their wicked way with me until I nearly pass out from orgasm overload. “Fiction.”
“Yeah?” He looks amused, like he knows the truth.
That’s not possible…right?
Stop being paranoid. Focus.
I nod and smile, pretending that my frying chicken requires great focus, but I feel my cheeks heating up.
Suddenly, he sidles up behind me. His woodsy scent fills my nose. He settles his hands on my hips, and he’s like a blast furnace behind me, pumping out heat.
I tremble…just like the night we met.
“You never got to change into dry clothes. I can watch the chicken if you want to do that now.”
I venture a glance over my shoulder. His face is right there—full lips, hard jaw, dark five-o’clock shadow.
I’m swooning. Literally heart pounding, breathless, and unsteady on my feet.
“Are you sure?”
“Positive. Need me to do anything else?”
“Can you peel some potatoes, too?” I retrieve the peeler from the drawer and the potatoes from the pantry.
He smiles and gives me an inch of space—but not much more—before he lets me go with a squeeze. “You got it.”
I give him a nervous smile, then I head toward my bedroom, taking my phone with me. When I reach the back of the house, I ignore everything the intruder touched and find a clean pair of denim cutoffs and a T-shirt that says Friday is my second favorite F-word. A quick glance at the mirror above my dresser tells me my mascara smudged in the rain and my hair is a mess. After wiping away the former and tousling the latter, I head back to the kitchen.
It’s a normal Friday night…but it’s not. Someone broke into my house to take nothing. So Rush Garrison is in my kitchen, offering to protect me all night. Both are surreal, and I’m having a tough time deciding which is more unbelievable.
Back under the bright lights, I see he’s already peeled and cubed a small pile of potatoes. “Thanks. But wow, I’ll have leftovers for days.”
“Clearly, you’ve never tried to feed me before.” He grins before he cuts his gaze in my direction.
Suddenly, his smile fades. He swallows. His stare rakes me, lingering on my snug T-shirt, then my legs.
New goose bumps erupt across my skin. I feel my nipples turn erect again, my womb actually clenching just from the way he looks at me.
“Come here,” he murmurs, setting the knife aside.
Biting my lip, I comply. His deep voice compels me to. In fact, it was the first thing to draw me to him way back when. “What?”
Rush pulls me closer, smiling when I settle my hands on his solid chest. “You sure you’re going to be okay?”
If he keeps touching me, no. This doesn’t feel like a protector soothing a girl. This feels like a man wanting to be close to a woman.
I think I’ve gone crazy.
I smile. “Sure. I’m not hurt. He didn’t take anything. My house is still standing…and you’re making me feel safer.”
“Do I?”
“Yeah.”
“Good.” He looks into my eyes, and I can feel his hot stare driving straight through my trembling heart and knotting stomach, all the way to my soul.
But he already owns me. He just doesn’t know it.
I swallow. “I should…um, cook these potatoes and start some biscuits.”
Rush releases me slowly. Reluctantly? “What can I do to help?”
Take me to bed until I’m a shaking, sated, sore pile of bliss. But that’s not what he means, and I have a feeling if I don’t give him something to focus on, I’ll be so rattled that I’ll burn dinner. “Set the table? Plates are in the cabinet.” I point. “Silverware in the drawer below it.”
He nods and gets busy. I notice then he’s already boiled water for the potatoes, so I dump them in, check the chicken, and start the biscuits while sipping my wine.
It doesn’t take Rush long to finish his task, and I’m more than a little surprised when Kitty Pie slinks his way and proceeds to sniff him. Rush lets her, slowly stooping to pet her. Minutes later, my skittish kitten, who spent her first three days here running away every time I did anything except feed her, is curled up in his arms, resting her dainty chin on his big shoulder and slumbering away.
“How did you do that?”
“Patience. She was curious but nervous, so I put myself in her space and let her come to me.”
Suddenly, I wonder if we’re actually talking about the cat.
“Well, it worked.” And I fear it’s working on me, too. Now that he’s here and offering to keep me safe, it’s all I can do not to slink closer and rub up against him.
“She’s sweet.”
“Do you like cats?” I ask as I flip the chicken.
“Never spent much time around them, but she seems like an adorable fluffball.”