She threw on a T-shirt and tucked it securely into a pair of khaki shorts before descending the stairs. Time to break the news that she wanted him out. Calm. Composed. It wasn’t like she was facing down a killer at trial. It was just Jeremy.
Somehow, that was even more terrifying.
It was only seven, so Jeremy was probably still passed out in the guest room—or so she thought, until she rounded the corner and practically collided with the scent of fried eggs and bacon. Her mouth watered. What was that madman up to?
She peeked into the kitchen and found Jeremy standing over the stove, barefoot and flipping eggs in a pan. He was topless save for his dog tags. Every time he turned, they swayed against his chest, drawing her eye unerringly to the dip between his pectorals and the taut stretch of muscle there.
The coffeemaker beeped as if announcing her arrival. He glanced up, caught her eye, and grinned. “Good morning.”
Erica stammered, frozen in place. He chuckled and turned back to the eggs. Another flip of the spatula, and his biceps flexed alarmingly. She closed her eyes, curled her fingers, and reminded herself to breathe.
Her voice was irritatingly unsteady when she managed to speak. “Bacon grease. I mean, um, you could get burned. By bacon grease. It splashes.”
Chalk one up for Captain Obvious.
He tossed another look at her, this one quizzical. “I’ll be fine.”
“You wouldn’t say that if you ended up with scars everywhere from third-degree burns,” she snapped. “You wouldn’t be so nonchalant then.”
“Jesus, you don’t have to bite my head off.”
He set the spatula down and turned to look at her, much too discerningly. She swallowed and tried to smile. “Sorry. I just don’t want you to get hurt. I’ll go get you a clean shirt, okay?”
He crossed the kitchen quickly and curled his hand against her elbow, his grip warm and gentle. “Erica, are you all right?”
His eyes probed hers. She looked away. “Yes. I’m fine.” No, I’m not.
She tugged free of his hold, spun on her heel, and almost ran from the kitchen. She had to escape the allure that coiled around him like a snake. If she stayed too close, it just might bite.
In the guest room, she took her time digging out another shirt. By the time she returned to the kitchen, she felt more in control, and handed the shirt over with a rueful smile.
“Here you go.”
He pulled the shirt on, and she sighed as those perfectly rippled abdominals disappeared. He quirked a brow, and she coughed.
“Breakfast smells delicious.”
And strike two for Captain Obvious.
She wished he’d say something. Anything to make her feel less awkward. She brushed past him and retrieved two mugs from a cabinet. From the corner of her eye, s
he watched him…and wished she hadn’t. The hunger in his eyes made her shiver and avert her gaze.
“I didn’t know you cooked,” she forced out.
He shrugged and turned back to the stove. “I’ve been single a long time. If I don’t do it, no one else will.”
“Yeah, I get that.” She nodded and filled both mugs with steaming coffee.
With deft movements, he slid eggs, bacon, and silverware onto two plates, and turned to offer her one. His handsome face was a little less swollen this morning, a little more defined, and his mouth seemed a little less alarmingly red. He managed to grin without flinching, an improvement over last night.
“Erica?”
She shook herself. Crap, he was still holding the plate, and looking at her like she’d just started singing the national anthem in Swahili. “Um. Yeah. Sorry.”
“For what?”
“Nothing. Just…nothing.” She took her plate and both mugs of coffee, and led him into the dining room. “Thank you for cooking. It’s very sweet.”