She ran a hand through the tangled hair around her shoulders and glanced down at her wrinkled pants and blouse. Ugh. There were wine stains across her chest, and, shoot, was that ketchup on her lap? She was pretty sure every stitch of makeup she’d worn was rubbed off, and there was probably smudged eyeliner to boot. Her mouth was fuzzy, and she didn’t have to do a sniff test to know she was wasn’t exactly fresh.
“I…” She frowned. “What are you doing here?”
“I knew you pulled a major shift yesterday, and I figured you could do with a Blackwell special.”
“A what?”
Wyatt stepped out of his boots and headed for the kitchen. “Breakfast.”
“What’s in all the bags?” She followed him to the kitchen.
Wyatt set them down and chuckled. “I had a look in your fridge the last time I was here, and, don’t take this the wrong way, but you live like you’re a starving college student. Go shower and let me get busy.”
She stared at him, unsure and more than a little freaked out to have Wyatt here in her kitchen, acting like he belonged here in her kitchen.
“You feed Bella yet?” His dark eyes were on her, and that familiar shot of warmth flushed her cheeks. Regan shook her head, and he smiled. Damn if that didn’t make things worse.
“Where’s her food?”
She pointed to the cupboard beside the island.
“I’ve got her. Go.” Wyatt grabbed a banana from one of his bags and pointed to the bedroom.
As she undressed, Regan was very much aware that a man was in her kitchen. Not just any man, but Wyatt Blackwell. That only a door separated them. And she was naked. In the shower. Naked.
Suddenly, she wasn’t tired at all.
By the time she was done and grabbed a pair of sweats and a T-shirt, her heart was thumping against her chest, and it felt as if she’d just run a marathon. She was hot, flushed, and out of breath. All from the thought of the man in her kitchen.
And, well, her naked in the shower.
Not that it counted considering she’d been naked and alone. Still. She wondered if he was thinking about her being naked in the shower, and that got her all hot and bothered again. She exhaled, took a few more deep breaths, and then, after combing her hair back into a loose knot, headed back to the kitchen.
Not bothering with slippers, Regan padded barefoot, and Wyatt had no idea she’d joined him. He stood near the oven, tossing the odd piece of food to Bella—she was going to have to nip that in the bud—and whistling to himself. The place smelled heavenly, and her mouth watered just as her stomach rumbled.
But it was the sight of Wyatt that really got her worked up. Faded jeans that clung to an ass carved from stone. Seriously. She didn’t care that his brother Travis was the hockey star. That right there was major hockey butt. Round. Firm. Delicious.
His faded navy T-shirt was so old and worn, it was threadbare. It clung to his shoulders and narrow waist. But there was something about a man in well-
worn clothes—they made him look comfortable, as if he belonged right where he was. His side profile was as gorgeous as the rest of him, his long lashes sweeping downward as he laughed at Bella’s antics. Hell, even her dog was enthralled.
“Smells good,” Regan said softly as she slid onto one of the stools at the island. There were two bowls of fruit set there, salt and pepper, and fresh orange juice. “What’s on the menu?”
He flashed her a smile and reached for a plate. “Mexican benedict.”
“Yum.” She stretched and tried to see over his shoulder. “Salsa?”
“Fresh.”
“Really,” she murmured when he set down her plate. “What exactly do you mean by fresh?”
Wyatt sat down beside her and passed a glass of orange juice her way. “I made it.”
“You made the salsa.” Was there anything he couldn’t do?
“Yep.”
“When did you do that?”