He’s standing before me, the absolute perfection of his chest stopping me in my tracks. I knew he was gifted in the muscle department, but holy shit, his muscles have muscles. But what transfixes me the most is that Cayden Coachman has scruff.
Dark hair is sprinkled between his firm pecs, leading downward like an arrow to his rock-hard abs. I could bounce pennies off those babies. The hair appears soft and not at all coarse. It’s fine enough to see his tanned skin beneath it but thick enough to run my fingers through it.
My hormones get punched with another dose of hotness when my gaze lowers and I see that his jeans sit low enough to reveal the scruff leads down into the unknown. My cheeks instantly blister when I realize the top button is undone, emphasizing his glorious V.
Who knew? I like a man with hair. That, combined with the tattoo fanning his flank, leaves me a slobbering fool.
The scenery utterly engrosses me, but I quickly raise my eyes when I notice his chest ripple. He’s exhaled deeply, reminding me that I am openly staring and doing a poor job of masking my feelings. “You really should put on a shirt. You’re flammable with all that…fluff.” I sweep my finger downward, unintentionally landing on his groin.
Oh my God, I sound like a freaking idiot, but it’s better than voicing the perverse thoughts happily bouncing around my head. Cayden smirks, which does absolutely nothing to help my lewdness. He clearly took his shirt off because it’s hotter than hell in here. However, when I see his delicious dimples of Venus, I may reconsider getting a new air-conditioning unit.
“Eat,” he orders, using his utensil to point at the pile of pancakes. That sounds like a brilliant idea. Stuffing my mouth full will prevent the nonsense from spilling out.
Passing him the plates, I go to work on filling our mugs. The coffee smells delicious. The bitterness is exactly how I like it. A small blue cooler sits in the corner of the room, and when Cayden notices me gazing at it, he explains. “That’s for you. I’m pretty sure that refrigerator is on its last leg.” To confirm his claim, the rusted beast whines before spluttering out a cough.
I smile in gratitude, suddenly interested in what he’s brought over.
Without thought, I pass him the coffee, and just as flippantly, he accepts. However, what we both didn’t count on was that the mere brushing of our thumbs would leave us breathless. Thankfully, he has a hold on the mug because I yank my hand away like it’s just been burned.
Cayden’s chest begins to swell as he inhales and exhales heavily, which only brings attention to his sculpted chest and does not help my predicament in the slightest. I turn around, never more thankful for a distraction. I drop to a crouch and open the lid. He’s brought over every topping one could want to decorate their pancakes with, but a simple bag of lemons is what holds me captive.
“See anything you like?”
The bright yellow of the ripe flesh has me wetting my lips as I can taste the zesty tang on my tongue. A bag of sugar on the counter is the next thing my eyes feast on. Reaching for both, I come to a stand with the ingredients in my hands. Cayden’s brow furrows, and I wonder why.
“Thank you for bringing all that over, but for some reason, these two things seem like a match made in pancake heaven.” He nods slowly, his look of bewilderment disappearing as quickly as it appeared.
He clears his throat before lumping a stack of pancakes on a plate. They smell delicious, and my stomach rumbles in delight. I hunt through the cupboard for the grater Lacey insisted I buy, which I am now thankful for, and go to work grating the rind from the lemon. Once it’s skinned, I slice it in half, attempting to keep my cool under Cayden’s scrutiny.
When he passes me the plate, it’s clear we are both keeping our distance. Once again, we work in harmony as I spoon a dollop of butter on the top pancake, then watch hungrily as it melts and runs down the sides. Next, I squeeze the lemons, the citrus aroma mingling with the buttermilk pancakes and Cayden’s signature fragrance. It’s sensory overload, and I lick my lips.
Once they’re coated in lemon juice, I open the sugar and dust my creation, the covering of white reminding me of a snowy winter morning. I’m transfixed by the sight, which is absurd. It’s just breakfast. But when the heat from Cayden’s flesh warms mine, I know nothing is simple about this scenario.
“Don’t forget the rind. It’s the best part.” I watch mutely as he reaches across my immobile body and scoops up a pinch of the peel. He doesn’t meet my eyes. It’s like he’s afraid to see if this connection runs both ways, but it does. It has from the moment we first met.
His long fingers work with precision as he sprinkles the final touch on my breakfast. The splash of yellow reminds me of sunshine on a hot summer’s day, the perfect contrast to the white. A yin to its yang.
Reaching for the fork, I sever a large portion and forget being ladylike as I stuff the entire helping into my mouth. The moment the tart citrus, the sweet sugar, and the golden butter hits my tongue, my mouth has a mini-orgasm, and I can’t help but vocalize it.
“Yum,” I groan, closing my eyes and savoring the taste. I thankfully remember to chew with my mouth closed, which is a miracle as my mouth is having a party and throwing social etiquette to the wind. Cayden’s chuckles alert me to my pancake PDA, and my cheeks instantly heat. “You can cook me pancakes any day,” I say from behind my hand as I continue chewing.
“Only if you promise to make that face when I do,” he counters, which only has me blushing further. I continue to stuff my mouth in fear I’ll say something I’ll regret.
He shakes his head, grinning as he coats his pancakes with butter and syrup. It appears we both like our breakfast simple, but the same can’t be said for the tension bouncing between us. We eat in silence, but the air is heavy with unspoken promises.
Cayden doesn’t shy away from watching me, and although my cheeks must resemble tomatoes from the heat I feel in them, I do the same. Seeing as I have no table or chairs yet, we eat standing in my kitchen, cloaked in whatever this feeling is.
The hypnotic movement of his Adam’s apple as he sips his coffee mesmerizes me. Of course, my eyes descend to his delectable chest and then land on his ribs. “I like your tattoo,” I say, shattering the silence.
Cayden absentmindedly rubs over the ink. “Thanks.” I wait for him to share the reason behind it, but he remains tight-lipped. Just as I’m about to press, he says, “So I’ve been thinking.” I gulp. “You said you’re good at drawing, and, well…”
Cayden Coachman is at a loss for words—wow, now I’ve seen it all.
He runs his fingers through his snarled hair, leaving a sexy faux-hawk in its wake. “How would you feel about working…with me?” I blink, stunned as I was not expecting those words to leave his lips. He mistakes my silence for aversion, though. “Or not. It’s just—”
But I interrupt him. “I’m listening.”
His relief is clear, which leaves me even more curious. “My main architect broke her arm, and I was wondering how’d you feel working with her to sketch what she can’t. She would give you complete guidance.” He quickly puts my mind at ease as I was going to remind him that I didn’t have any experience. I don’t even know if that sketch was a one-off, seeing as I haven’t drawn anything since.
But the offer is appealing. The thought of starting fresh in a field that sounds fun and rewarding, and not to mention it’s a job I think I’d actually enjoy, has me nodding animatedly. “What’s the pay like?” I quip because I’ve already made my decision. I don’t care what it pays. I’m in. But I can’t give in so easily. My pride won’t allow it.
“It’s negotiable,” he playfully replies, leaning against the counter, arms folded, which brings my attention back to the fact that he’s topless in my kitchen.
I was doing so well with focusing on my job opportunities until he had to flaunt his chest my way. A thought suddenly occurs to me, which has me second-guessing my eagerness to accept Cayden’s offer. Working with him means seeing him every day, which means I can count on reliving these moments of awkwardness daily.
“Change of heart?” There is a genuine curiosity in his voice. Is he testing me? Is that what this is?
Game on.
Pulling back my shoulders, I purse my lips, faking aloofness. “Not on your life. When do I start?”
Cayden accepts my challenge, the thrill exciting him as dark mischief readily replaces the blue in his eyes. “As soon as you can.”
The fact that I don’t have a car might prove a problem. “Can I walk there?”