“Yes, please.” I wake up craving caffeine.
“Me too.”
She pours into the waiting cups and disappears.
“So why a chef?” He takes a sip of his coffee. I notice he drinks it black.
I add milk and one sugar to mine. “Well … if I wanted to eat, I needed to learn to cook. My parents were always out at the country club or at business dinners. Mom didn’t worry much about me. There was always cereal in the cabinets but…” I shake my head. Whenever I speak of my childhood, I have to do it over a painful lump in my throat.
He stares at me through hooded eyes. I don’t want him to feel sorry for me. Poor little rich girl. I push on. “Anyway, I watched cooking shows. And I learned.” I draw a deep breath. “I’m good at it, and I love cooking. Especially delicious breakfast foods. You?” I don’t want to talk about me. I’d rather learn about him.
“I want to eat, so I learned to cook. Like you, I enjoy it.”
I grin. “That’s cool,” I say. “So what do you do for a living?”
“I dabble.”
I sip my coffee, unsatisfied with his answer. “What does that mean exactly?”
“I’m in business … and I have my PI license, and I’m good at digging up information.” A shrug. “People hire me for this and that.”
“And you make a living that way?” I cringe. I was raised better than to blurt out what’s on my mind.
Instead of being annoyed, he bursts out laughing. “Yes, Princess, I do. You’d be amazed the things people will pay to find out.”
“Huh.” I lift my coffee and take another nice long sip of caffeine. Then another.
Closing my eyes, I lean back and enjoy the burnt brew because I know, no matter how lousy the taste, the lovely caffeine will soon begin to flow through my veins. I moan softly at the thought.
“Don’t do that.”
“What?” I ask as my eyelids snap open.
“Make sex noises in public. You do and you’ll find yourself against the nearest bathroom wall.” He’s staring at me, those green eyes darkened with need.
Oh. My. God. He wants me.
My mouth runs dry. I mean, he’s been keeping an eye on me at night, he saved me, saw me home safely, and showed up again this morning. Any normal girl would have caught on quickly. I’m not normal. Never have been.
And there’s that naiveté showing itself again. It’s not that I thought he was just being friendly, and I knew there was attraction between us, but this. It’s a burning heat the likes of which I’ve never experienced.
The boys I’ve been with were just that. Boys. He’s all man, from the darkened stubble on his handsome face to the muscles bulging in his forearms. This morning I catch sight of a tattoo I didn’t notice in the dark last night.
I open my mouth, and to my mortification, a small squeak escapes instead of a coherent word.
He grins, but those heated eyes remain on mine. “I shocked you.”
I manage a nod. “In a good way.” A burning flush rises to my cheeks. I can’t say anything right around him.
“You’re nothing like I thought you’d be,” he mutters, and he doesn’t sound happy about the thought.
I squirm in my seat. “When you were watching me at the bar, you mean?”
“Something like that. You’re sweetness and light. And you remind me of someone,” he says, his voice suddenly sad.
I know immediately he’s not talking about an ex-girlfriend. No, he’s thinking of someone close to him, someone he lost. Instinct has me reaching for him, and I place my hand over his.
I sit quietly and wonder if he’ll say more.