Taylor woke in heaven. Or, more accurately, to the smell of coffee brewing and bacon frying. Which, as far as she was concerned, was the same thing.
She slipped on a robe, then padded into her kitchen
to find Landon poking at a huge skillet of bacon with rubber tongs.
"This is a lovely domestic sight," she said, coming behind him and wrapping her arms around his waist.
He turned around to face her, his eyes roaming over her as a slow smile touched his lips. "Good morning, beautiful. I could get used to this."
"Me, too," she admitted, her body flushing under the intensity of his gaze. The words were scary, but true. This man had shifted things inside her somehow. As if there'd been a chemical reaction between them, and everything she'd been--and feared--had changed its pattern in the night. Now it felt like she had a path through the darkness with Landon beside her. Scary and tentative, but nice. A small blossom forcing its way up through a crack in the concrete.
He brushed his thumb over her lower lip. "Kiss for your thoughts?"
"That's pretty much what I was thinking about," she admitted, then tilted her face up for a slow, deep kiss.
When they broke apart, she was grinning. "Cheater," she said. "You've been picking at the bacon."
"I have," he admitted, then reached for a piece and fed it to her. He kissed her quick afterwards, then pulled back with a twinkle in his eyes. "Delicious."
"Right back at you."
He turned back to the stove to flip the bacon and stir a skillet of scrambled eggs. "I have calls in about Beau," he said. "I should hear back this morning. In the meantime, I thought we could--"
"Wait," she said, putting her hand on his back. "I have a request."
He flipped the heat off under the skillets, then turned to face her.
"I just want--I mean, could we--oh, hell. Can we just pretend like none of this is happening? At least until after you hear back. I want to ... well, the truth is I just want to hang out with you. Eat that breakfast you made, cuddle on the couch, maybe read. Watch TV. And then later we could go to The Fix and get my car. You know, normal stuff. Could we? I mean, you know, if you were planning on staying with me, and..."
She trailed off, fearing that she'd presumed too much. But when she saw the slow grin that was lighting those amazing eyes, she knew what his answer would be, and her own smile bloomed wide when he said, "Sweetheart, I think that sounds just about perfect."
Because they'd slept so late, it was past ten when they ended up on the couch with their breakfast plates on the coffee table in front of them. And because he'd been sitting on the doormat when Landon went outside to grab the morning paper, Mr. Patches sat between them, eating the bits of bacon that both Landon and Taylor were sneaking to him.
Afterwards, Taylor curled up with a classic Julie Garwood novel, and Landon kicked back for a marathon re-watch of the first season of Game of Thrones. When she got up to refill her coffee, she came back with two Mimosas and winked at him. It was Friday, but it felt like a luxurious lazy weekend morning. More than that, it felt normal.
No, with Landon beside her, it felt special.
I could get used to this, he'd said. And yeah, so could she.
Despite their laziness, the day seemed to fly by, and when Landon's phone rang, she realized it was already almost five.
He took it, and he mouthed the word Beau, so she knew it was from one of his contacts, but she couldn't figure out the gist of the conversation from his monosyllabic side of the conversation.
"Well?" she asked he hung up.
"Pay dirt. Your Mr. Harkness is swimming in warrants. We get our hands on him, not only can we ship him back to Arkansas, but we can pretty much ensure that he spends a very long time behind bars."
Relief flooded her body. "That's so fabulous."
He nodded slowly, as if considering that assessment. "It is," he said, then moved off the couch to sit on the coffee table in front of her. "But it would be a hell of a lot better if you filed a complaint. If this were an official investigation. I could get a team assigned. I could make things happen."
Ice replaced the relief, and she shook her head, then put down the Mimosa she'd been about to sip so he wouldn't notice the way her hand had started shaking. "No," she whispered. "I'm sorry, but no."
She watched the emotions play over his face. Confusion. Frustration. Determination. "I need you to talk to me, Taylor. I need you to tell me what else is going on."
But she just shook her head, then stood. "Please," she said. "No cops. Just you. If you care at all about me, then please just trust me."
He looked like he was going to argue, but instead he nodded. "This conversation isn't over."