Make Me, Sir (Doms of Decadence 5)
Page 31
He reached out, placing his hand around the nape of her neck and massaging. She groaned. That felt amazing. Not just the massage—although that was great—but having him touch her.
“What’s that?” she asked, pointing at the screen where she could see a grainy black and white image of a van.
“The florist’s van. Caught it on camera. Detective Wyatt is looking into it.”
“Oh. Maybe he paid with a credit card, and it will lead us to him.”
She glanced up and caught his smile. “What?”
“You’re smart. Quick.” His smiled faded, replaced by a frown.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Nothing.” He stood. “I’ll make dinner.”
She followed him into the kitchen, surprised by the hint of vulnerability she’d seen. “I’m not hungry.”
He didn’t reply, just put a pan on the stove.
“Tiny—”
“You need to eat. You’ve lost weight.”
She had. But she’d hoped he hadn’t noticed. She glanced down at herself. Did it make her less attractive or more? The media seemed to think skinny was good, but she didn’t understand how bony could be attractive.
“Reagan, look at me.”
She raised her gaze up to his serious one. “That wasn’t a comment on the way you look.”
It wasn’t? It certainly felt that way.
“You’re beautiful no matter what size you are.”
Completely floored by his statement, she watched as he cooked an omelet. Sometimes she liked to just watch him. He moved so elegantly despite his bulk. As he cooked, he tidied. Since the first night they’d eaten together, he’d made sure to clean as he cooked. He did it so casually, without fuss, that she’d soon gotten over her embarrassment.
They sat and ate in silence. Afterwards, they moved to the couch and sat. He laid one arm over the back of the sofa and picked up the remote. “Any preference?”
“What’s your real name?” she blurted out.
His face closed down. “Comedy or action?”
She turned away, drawing her legs up against her chest. It didn’t matter if he didn’t want to talk. He was a private man. Just because she felt like she’d bared most of her secrets didn’t mean he had to do the same. Tiny sighed then dragged her against him. She stiffened, and he leaned down, kissing her on the head.
“Sorry. My real name is Jacob.”
“It’s a great name.”
“It’s also my father’s name,” he said darkly.
“You don’t get on with your father?”
“My father is… trying.”
“Trying?” She raised her eyebrows. “Coming from the man who has perfected the understatement, I’m guessing he’s a real asshole.”
Tiny grinned. “Yep.”
“Violent?”