The hunger pangs confirmed that although she wasn’t truly hungry from an empty stomach, she was still suffering psychologically from the starvation she endured under torture.
“Coffee.” Brock appeared around the sofa and held out a steaming mug. In a rumpled t-shirt and shorts, she pushed upright easily, still somewhat sleepy-eyed to drink in the vision of an Adonis who, she hoped, would, in a matter of time, fall prey to her hungry lust.
“Just a little lovin’ early in the mornin’ beats a cup of coffee for starting off the day…” Jordan stared up at him and waited with a cheeky smile. “I love the scent of freshly ground coffee.”
“Noon is hardly early morning.” Brock didn’t react to the bait as she’d hoped.
“What?” Her eyes scoured the outside perimeter through the large panels of glass covering the entire front of the house. The sun was already at its zenith. “Good lord! Why didn’t anyone wake me?”
“You needed the rest.”
Jordan took a sip then rose up to follow him into the open plan kitchen.
“Where is everyone?”
“They were making too much noise, so I chased them out of the house. I sent them on a hike.” He glanced at his watch. “They should be back soon. Come, I made you brunch and since I waited on you to wake up, I’m now starving. Let’s eat.”
With her precious mug of French Roast in hand, she settled at the dining room table. He handed her a plate laden with eggs, bacon, tomatoes, mushrooms, and a potato rosti as he sat down opposite her.
“There are some blueberry pancakes for dessert as well.”
“You prepared all of this? The pancakes too?”
He cast an amused look at her. “What’s the problem? Don’t tell me you’re a feminist who believes men can’t cook?”
“Not the ones I know,” she mumbled around a bite of buttery mushrooms. “Mmmm, this is heaven,” she cooed. The perfectly crisped bacon detonated in her mouth like a savory bomb. It was how her weekends usually began— as a gourmand, feasting upon an eclectic recipe of her own making.
They ate in companionable silence for a while until Jordan could no longer contain her curiosity. Brock Carter was turning out to be quite an enigma. She was eager to uncover every facet of his persona. One way or another, she had to find the key to unlock his secrets.
“So, who are you and what have you done with that chauvinistic asshole, Brock Carter, who I got to know over the past couple of months?”
“I could ask you the same question.”
He concentrated on his food rather than look at her, which of course, irritated the crap out of her. Eyes were the windows to the soul and if there was a moment where she needed to know what was going on inside that complex brain of his, it was now.
“Meaning?”
“C’mon, Jordan. Do I have to remind you of all the sneering, the disparaging comments and the generically, bitchy behavior you put on display whenever I’m around?” Amusement lightened his eyes to a molten silver. “Or is that just how you flirt?”
“What if it is?” She stabbed at a piece of sausage. He was obviously onto her.
Of course he would be, you dumbass! He’s a Dom, a very discerning one at that and has probably been laughing at me all along.
Her attempt since they’d met to appear unaffected by his presence had spectacularly backfired, leaving her vulnerable.
“You’re sending mixed messages,” he said in a gritty voice. The comment wrapped itself around the submissive identity inside her, gently teasing out all the reservations she had had about allowing any man a glimpse of the loneliness that prowled inside her heart.
Her eyes dropped to the square architecture of his jaw. It took all of her willpower not to crawl over the table and flick her tongue against the dimple that sat quietly in his chin, confident in its diminutive stature, knowing it was the focal point of his entire face..
“Lucky for us, it’s a feminine subterfuge I learned to identify early in life.” He smiled as her cheeks were washed rouge under his gaze.
“Lucky for us?” She cracked a fist on the table. “I’m not impressed with your riddle mastery, Brock, nor am I in the mood to try and decipher everything you say. Say what you mean or shut the fuck up.”
“Ah, and she’s back— the fiery little kitty begging to have her backside tanned.”
“My backside will only be tanned if and when I choose it to be,” she dared, unable to stop the thrilling vision of being draped over his lap while his palm spanked the taut flesh of her buttocks red hot. The collateral effect of the act manifested a surge of unleashed pheromones dumped into her veins to further spike the high that was already pushing her mind over the top.
“That sounds suspiciously like a challenge, little one.” Brock stopped eating. His silvery eyes caught hers in a dark warning. “I love that you’re a fiery woman, Jordan, but be warned for future reference. I will not tolerate continued sassiness and open defiance. Since I’m in a mellow mood this morning, I’ll allow your petulant behavior to slide, but once our relationship has been decided and is secure, you’ll—”