Still, I don’t want to interrupt him, so I remain in the darkness of the hallway, quietly watching as my man pushes himself through a punishing workout. After what feels like ages, Brad finishes and turns to sit his weights down before spotting me lingering in the shadows. I flash him a bright smile and step fully into the living room, but he doesn’t seem happy to see me. Instead he frowns, averts his eyes, and then grabs a towel from the coffee table before wiping the sweat from his face.
I ignore that ominous sign. Instead, I smile brighter and walk towards him. “Good morning, handsome,” I say, keeping my voice as sweet as syrup.
He stiffens a bit and then glances at me before his frown deepens. Small wrinkles form on his forehead and the creases around his mouth grow more pronounced. My heart sinks a little, but I refuse to be cowed. Instead, I just keep smiling.
“That was some workout,” I remark lightly. “No wonder you look so athletic.” I reach out to stroke his chest, but he moves out of my range and like a dummy, I let my hands fall to my sides.
Meanwhile, Brad looks away from me, refusing to meet my gaze.
“You need to leave,” he says in a flat tone that’s completely devoid of all emotion. What the hell? This is a complete one-eighty from last night. If anything, last night it seemed like he couldn’t get enough of me. He kissed me so much that I felt treasured and wanted, and then cuddled me close after each one of our sessions. Now however, that’s all gone in the bright light of day and I swallow heavily around the lump in my throat.
“Why do you want me to leave?” I manage in a steady tone.
He sighs, shaking his head with anguish again. “Because I never should have let you stay in the first place, Katy. Last night was a mistake.”
A mistake? How can he say that? Those words make the pain in my chest blossom, but they spark my anger too because I know he’s full of shit. He was just as into us last night as I was, if not more.
“What the hell are you talking about?” I demand. “It wasn’t a mistake and you know it. What’s your deal?”
He finally allows himself a glance in my direction and throws up his hands. “What do you think, Katy?” comes his tense growl. “How about the fact I’m probably more than twice your age? I mean, is what we did even legal? Please tell me you’re eighteen.”
Crossing my arms over my chest, I glare at him. “I’m nineteen and you know it, Brad. You were at my birthday dinner, so don’t even play that game with me.”
He looks tortured.
“Still, that’s a twenty-one year difference between us.”
I shake my head stubbornly. “So? It doesn’t matter. I’m an adult, and I want what we did. I don’t care if you’re older than me because what is it that they say? Age is just a number? I don’t care if you’re forty or sixty or whatever.”
The handsome man breathes heavily through his nostrils, and I see his jaw tick. “Even if that’s true, Katy, it doesn’t excuse the fact that your dad is my boss. Senator Mellon is like a father figure to me, and what happened between us last night crossed a major line that we can never cross again.”
Closing the distance between us, I jab him in the chest with an indignant expression.
“Who you work for has absolutely no bearing on what happened between us. I know you feel this connection between us too, Brad, so don’t belittle it. And again, I am a grown woman, and I decide who I date and whom I sleep with. My father’s input isn’t needed, and that’s the long and the short of it. Even more, we both wanted what happened last night, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let you kick me out of here and act like it never happened.”
My tirade makes his jaw drop open, and a stunned look crosses his handsome features as he continues staring at me. But I just turn and stomp into the kitchen, almost daring him to follow me. What the hell? Is he really hung up on my age, or his job? Those sound so ridiculous in the face of what could be a passionate, loving relationship.
But all this arguing has me hungry, and I jerk open the fridge door to see what there is to eat. Good, this isn’t some horrific bachelor fridge where there’s only alcohol and a lump of moldy cheese. Instead, I smile grimly at the carton of eggs, milk, butter, and the pack of smoked Applewood bacon. This is going to be perfect.
Rummaging through the cabinets, I discover a bag of flour in the cabinets, and then get to work. Still smoldering, I bang on assorted pots and pants while making biscuits and frying the bacon. Then comes the creamy, spiced gravy, and while it thickens I scramble up some mouthwateringly fluffy eggs.