I cut some cake and eat it.
Caramel mud.
So good.
But nowhere near enough to take my mind off the man in my shower.
I cut a slice of the apple cinnamon teacake and gobble it down.
Still nowhere near enough to reach my goal, but at this rate, I’ll have eaten all six cakes by the time he finishes, so I stop and make my way back down the hall to retrieve his clothes. I stand outside for a couple of minutes listening to the shower running, but I make a good decision when I swipe his clothes up and practically run to the laundry. Holly would be so proud of me.
I’m finishing icing my cakes and cleaning up when Fury walks into the kitchen wearing nothing but a towel. My eyes meet his as he lifts his arm and runs his fingers through his wet hair. “Thanks for letting me use the shower.”
My brain is trying to keep up with his words when it can barely keep up with all the sexy on display, but I manage to remember his clothes that are in the wash. “No worries. I should go check your clothes. They’re probably ready to go in the dryer.”
“I already put them in.”
“Oh.”
The air is thick with tension as we silently watch each other. I’m fairly certain it’s not just me feeling this, but it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve misread a situation with a guy, so maybe not.
Fury cuts through the tension when he pulls up a stool at the counter and says, “How about that cake?”
I’m relieved to have something to do and cut him a piece of the caramel mud. When I slide the plate across to him, he says, “You’re not having any?”
“Trust me, I’ve had some. I don’t need more.”
He picks up the fork as his eyes lock onto mine. They’re filled with intent when he says, “Trust me, you could get away with having more.”
Because I’ve decided not to go there with him, I don’t know what to do with that. I also don’t know what to do with the sight of him eating. Seriously, this man is the sexiest man alive as far as I’m concerned. He even makes eating sexy.
Desperate to do anything besides drool over him, I say, “How old is your niece now?”
He seems surprised by the turn of conversation, but answers, “She turned five last month.”
“You spend a lot of time with her?”
Regret flickers in his eyes as he takes another bite of cake. “Not anymore.”
“Why?”
“Her mother got married and moved to Darwin two years ago. I’ve only seen them once since then.”
“What’s her name?” I cut him a piece of the apple cinnamon cake and give it to him because he’s inhaled the mud cake.
“Violet.” He takes a mouthful of the apple cake.
I rest my elbows on the counter and lean forward. “So her mother isn’t your sister?”
“No.”
“You don’t like giving much when people ask you questions, do you?”
“You ask a lot of questions.”
I grin. “Yeah. I like other people’s stories.”
“I don’t.”