My fridge was behemoth and immaculately organized. There were rows of various soft drinks and sparkling waters in glass bottles, organized by size. Glass bottles of homemade dressings were in the doors along with my homemade nut milk. I had three different kinds of butter: salted, unsalted and PDO Charente-Poitou Butter imported from France.
If you took a look in my refrigerator, you’d think I was organized and completely nuts with no social life to speak of. Which would be right.
“Grilled cheese,” I decided, snatching up three kinds of cheese, mayo and butter.
Rowan had migrated from where he was standing to the kitchen. But not to perch on one of the barstools as was the norm for any visitor in my house. I cooked, arranged cheese boards and they watched. It was a rhythm. A comfortable rhythm, one I enjoyed. I loved people coming into my home, looking after them, feeding them.
Those dusty pink barstools had set me back a bomb, so I was glad I got my money’s worth.
But Rowan did not follow the rhythm I had established in this kitchen. Of course, he didn’t.
Rowan was there, right there when I closed the door of the fridge. So close that my body brushed against his before I knew what was happening. And before I could stop myself, I inhaled audibly, reveling in his clean, masculine scent.
Then I realized that I’d just sniffed this man, so I jumped back, arranging my ingredients on the counter before stepping back so I could get a chopping board and some fresh bread from the walk-in pantry.
My hand was shaking when I grabbed it.
Rowan was still there when I turned around.
“You need to sit over there.” I pointed to the pink barstool.
Rowan did not look to where I was pointing. He continued to look at me. Which just wouldn’t do. “Why do I need to sit over there?” he asked, his tone smooth. Deep.
I swallowed, battling both arousal and discomfort. “Because this is my kitchen, and I can’t have a man in my kitchen.”
He raised his brow. “Not very progressive of you.”
I suppressed a groan. This man was infuriating and far too attractive for his own good.
“How are you suddenly in my life, demanding to stay the night and in my kitchen?” I demanded, folding my arms.
He didn’t answer immediately. No, he just kept staring at me. No one stared at someone that long without speaking. Not unless they were about to rip their clothes off.
And Rowan wasn’t about to rip my clothes off.
Was he?
Sweat beaded between my breasts.
No, a man like Rowan wasn’t going to rip my clothes off when I got boob sweat whenever I got nervous. Or turned on. Which I was. Even though I was also terrified. But that good kind of terror. Like when you were on a rollercoaster and you knew that the restraints were most likely going to be effective.
But there was a tiny percent chance that they wouldn’t be. That your ride would be the time that someone didn’t fasten them correctly and you’d go tumbling to your death. But that was part of the fun, wasn’t it? To get off and feel as if you’d cheated death.
“I’m in your life because I want to be in your life,” Rowan answered, still not breaking his devastating eye contact. He took a step forward. A small one. But any closing of the distance between us caused my throat to constrict and the boob sweat to intensify.
“You tell me that you want me to leave, that you really want me to leave, and I will,” he offered in a low, throaty voice.
My heart thundered. I had just been arguing with him about him being here. I’d been doing so passionately. But that was when Fiona was here as somewhat of a buffer. That was before he started staring like he did and talking to me in a tone that was like melted chocolate.
Say it, I urged myself. The chance of falling with him is a fuck of a lot more likely than on a rollercoaster.
I opened my mouth. “I need to make the grilled cheese,” I said instead of telling him to leave like I should’ve.
For one, terrible, glorious moment, I thought he might not give me the space to make the grilled cheese.
But then he stepped back. I let out a breath of relief. Or disappointment. I couldn’t tell which.
“I want to help.” His voice was rough now.
“I need you to be over there.” I pointed to the barstools. “Because I just… I need you to be over there. I have been through a lot in the past twenty-four hours.”
Rowan pursed his lips, frowning at me for just a moment before he strode around the island to sit on the barstools. My heartbeat did not slow down with the giant slab of quartz between us.