“Never heard of Glenn’s Vodka.”
“Don’t worry, Smirnoff ain’t got shite on it.” He gestures his head toward the glass cupboards, whisking the batter. Butter softly crackles on the griddle at the center of the stove.
“Ye know how to make a fecking drink and drink, right?”
I laugh, shaking my head, pointing the bottle of vodka at him. “You’re on my last nerve—dangling on it.”
I pour us both a copious amount and slide his over. He lifts his, nods in my direction, and drinks.
“Go ahead, lass, tell me Smirnoff’s better. I dare ya.”
“There are other brands in America besides Smirnoff.” I place the drink to my lips and take a slow sip at first, savoring the nose and flavor. Satisfied, I toss the triple shot back.
“So, lass?”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah?” One side of his mouth tips.
“I said, ‘yeah,’ Brody. Now, you can continue making the best pancakes I’ll ever have—in your opinion.”
While he’s flipping over the fluffy, golden delights, I walk over and pour the clear liquid into his glass. We work in tandem and peace. By the time I’ve rimmed the glass with salt and dropped celery garnishes into both drinks, Brody has a stack of pancakes.
He cuts a piece with a fork and swaggers over to me. I shudder in a breath and move to take the silver utensil.
“Nae, that’s not how this works.” His eyes fall to my lips. I’ve never seen a man dote over a female while she consumed food—unless she was licking a lollipop or eating a strawberry seductively. Brody’s eyes have darkened, leaving no wiggle room for another denial. I suffocate in vulnerability as he slowly deposits the bite inside my mouth. My eyes close instantly. I savor the taste.
When I open my eyes, I see that Brody can’t keep his gaze from my mouth. “Best ye ever had?”
My lips find the shell of his ear. “Thank you.”
That forbidden feeling of desire in my bones intensifies.
Brody dips down, and at this precise second, I marvel at his height, which is something I’ll never get used to.
“Brody, we shouldn’t . . .”
He pulls away, granting me the chance to call the shots. I could die right now. This dominant has let me lead. Desire unravels my convictions. I rise to my tippy toes, my own lips seeking his against my better judgment. In a shuttered breath, I deny the two of us the kiss. Our eyes connect, and I cleave my bottom lip through my teeth.
“Like I was saying, we should—”
“Nae, we should not.”
With my demeanor focused, my shoulders square at his agreement. “We both know I’m not that type of woman. Besides, I’m only here until Chevelle and her family leave.”
His bicep flexes as his palm comes to rest on the countertop. Brody is effortless seduction. He sounds like a perfect mistake while asking, “What type of lass aren’t ya?”
“Easy. Now.” I step away from him. The sweeping kitchen offers ample room for retreat. I pull out two square, navy blue plates and add a stack of fluffy golden delights to each one. “Will you tell me what’s going on between your brother and sister-in-law?”
“They’re having problems. So, easy?” I roll my eyes for him, but inside...Damn, I retract my statement.
When I settle down on a stool at the island, Brody sits next to me. Too close. Though he inquired about easy, I chicken out, reverting to safe territory. I ask, “Like marital problems? I know Chevelle doesn’t have a biological family but is it normal for them to reach out to your parents when—”
“Ye and I are talking about ye not being eas—”
“Damn, really, Brody? I’m not easy, your choice of meat.” I shrug, searching the table to find my fork is right by my plate. “I have a visceral need to connect with someone.”
“Connect, eh?” His gaze follows all my curves. In a deliciously evocative tone, he says, “We can connect over this table, lass. We can connect with all yer sweet arse in my face. We can con—”