The Satin Sash

She curled up against his side, cheek to chest. “I woke up with the Grinch.”

“What did that blockhead do?”

She made a grimace of distaste, not even wanting to get into it. “He’s just sour company.”

A knock came, and the door opened before anyone could invite him in. “Cat.”

“Stop calling me Cat.”

“She’s very moody when she hasn’t eaten, Heathcliff. Didn’t I warn you?”

“It’s not the goddamned food.” He stared from the door, a hand on the doorframe. His neck was flushed, his eyebrows drawn low into a furious scowl.“Kitten, I’ve never done pillow talk before. Can we try this again? I really want you in my bed.We can nap and we can . . . do things.”

Toni snuggled to Grey’s side while throwing Heath her fiercest look to date.

His lips turned into a thin, uncompromising line as he slapped a hand on the doorframe. “Look, I don’t know what to do with a woman if it’s not . . .”

“Take some of your own advice, Heathcliff.‘Women like words and shit.’”

“Toni,” Heath said, ignoring Grey. “Come on.”

Grey rolled his eyes, groaning to himself. “Heath, I’m feeling really, really sorry for you.”

Toni snuggled closer to Grey, mumbling,“Just bring your pillow.”

Less than a minute later, he stormed inside with a look that dared anyone to contradict him. He fluffed up his pillow beside her, snorted when satisfied, and then he spooned her.The room started to darken as the sun set.

“Anyone up for dinner?” Toni queried.

“I’m up for sleeping,” Grey murmured.

Cuddling between the two men, she was about to drift off to sleep when Heath snagged her earlobe between his teeth and rasped, “I’m up for sex.”

Chapter Eleven

The next morning she found them having breakfast in silence, and although she said good morning, they didn’t seem to hear. She went directly to the coffeepot, noticing across the counter as she poured a cup for herself that they’d already filled their cups.

Two large males at the breakfast table could’ve been incongruous, but it felt so right, like a family. She warmed all over as she watched their hands. Both long, Heath’s more callused than Grey’s as he cradled his cup in one hand. She walked over, snatched the bread crust from Grey’s plate, and rumpled his hair on her way to her seat.

“Didn’t your nannies teach you to clean your plate?”

He looked up, smiling. “I was always a very good boy. I ate all my spinach.”

“You hate spinach.”

“They made me hate it.” He folded the morning paper, ran a finger across the back of her ear, tucking a chestnut curl back. “How do you feel?” he asked thickly.

She leaned back contentedly, taking a sip. Outside, the day was clear, the skies blue—a day that promised to be special. “I feel great.”

“Get over here.” The chair legs screeched as she obediently rose, and he drew her down to his lap and kissed her lips. “Good morning.”

She petted his morning stubble and whispered,“Good morning.”

“Do I get one of those?”

Her eyes flicked to Heath’s. Unlike Grey, he was unsmiling this morning, intense, his eyes liquid coals. “Of course.”

She made her way to him, her attention zeroing in on those pink, luscious lips of his. Just when she was going to give him a peck, he hauled her down on his knee and lightly bit around her chin. “I think I’ll have you with my pancakes.”