“Nope.” She smirks like the traitor she is. “He took it with him to work.” She reaches for her purse and keys off the table next to the door. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to the gym for a while, and then I’ll be having lunch with a friend, and then…I’m doing a little shopping, so I’ll be gone a long time. You two have fun.”
I’m going to die. My mother basically just told me to have sex in her home. That shift I felt in the earth was obviously bigger than I thought.
When my eyes find Brady, he looks worried. “Are you mad?”
I smile, shaking my head. “No, Brady I’m thrilled. I’ve missed you so much.”
He holds my hands gently between us. “I couldn’t wait another day. I told you before, when you’re not with me, there’s not enough air. I need you to breathe.”
My knees nearly buckle. I want to jump him. I can’t. We have to discuss a few things first. We can’t rush back into this. “I feel the same way, but we need to talk.”
He half-smiles. “I know.”
I give him a gentle shove toward the kitchen. “Come on — I’ll make you breakfast.”
I’m a ball of nerves. How do I start this conversation? Do I just come out and ask why he slept with Annabelle before I’d even gotten on the plane? I decide to put if off. I don’t want our happy mood to end just yet.
“What would you like to eat?”
“Hmmm…that is a loaded question.” He smiles playfully as I blush. “Pancakes. I’ll settle for pancakes.”
God, I’ve missed him. “You got it.”
“With syrup…”
“Okay.” I laugh, watching his lips lift into a smug grin.
“And whipped cream…and strawberries.”
“Demanding as ever.” I smirk. “Would you like your laundry done, too, Mr. Hunter?”
His head tilts as he gives a small laugh. “I might…depends on how dirty my clothes get.”
I ignore his flirting under protest from my body. I’m not ready to venture into pillow talk territory. I go about making pancakes while Brady busies himself with cleaning the strawberries. When the pancakes are done, I fork a couple onto two plates and nod for Brady to have a seat at the table. We sit. I pour syrup over mine. Before I’ve set the bottle down, I hear the hiss of the whipped cream can just before my face is covered in it.
“Brady!” I squeal in complete surprise.
“God, I love that smile.” His sexy voice is full of lustful promises.
Oh, no, he doesn’t. This is war!
After I wipe my face clean, I hold a strawberry out for him. The old “fake with the left, attack with the right” theory. He’s distracted by my flirtatious berry and doesn’t see it coming until syrup drips from the front of his hair.
I set the bottle of syrup down and lean back in my chair, waiting for the attack. I don’t wait long before I’m face to face with the nozzle of the whipped cream can, again. I dart from my chair, only getting a foot before his arm has a firm grip on my waist. He squeezes the whipped cream over my head, my neck, and my face.
Our laughter combines, filling the room with a sound I haven’t heard in forever. We’re happy. We both come to the realization together, stopping and locking our gazes on each other with a hint of regret nudging us. I pick up a towel from the counter and wipe my face. At the same time we utter a “sorry,” and then laugh.
With our eyes still locked, Brady shoots a dollop of whipped cream onto his finger and offers it to me. I slip my tongue over it, removing most of the pile, and then suck it clean. Next, he slips a finger through the syrup that now glistens on both sides of his cheeks. He then sweeps his syrup-laced fingers over my lips before he’s kissing me. “Mmm…syrup and whipped cream. Two of my favorite things.”
“I thought I was your favorite thing.”
“No.” He smirks. “You’re my most favoritest.”
“That’s much good English, Mr. Hunter.”
His smile grows larger. “I have another favorite.”
“What?”