Snow Leopard's Lady (Veteran Shifters 1)

***

Mavis came awake quickly, her eyes flying open to see Wilson frozen in the act of pulling away.

“I was just going to check on that coffee,” he explained. “But now that you’re awake—” He settled back in, his arms warm and solid around her. “Did you have a good nap?”

“Mmm,” Mavis said. She wondered how long she’d slept. It didn’t seem long. But she didn’t want to look at the clock—didn’t want to think about time ticking away until Wilson would fly back to Washington, out of her life forever.

She blinked a few times, waking herself up, and stretched in Wilson’s arms. Best to just enjoy the moment. She smiled at him. “I hope it wasn’t boring, just watching me sleep.”

“It was anything but boring.” His tone was so heartfelt, Mavis couldn’t help but believe him.

He took her hands in his, brought them to his mouth, and kissed her fingers softly. It was so sweet that Mavis was left speechless and blinking sudden, inexplicable tears from her eyes.

“Are you hungry?” he asked.

Mavis was surprised to find that she was. But when she looked at the clock, she realized that dinner had been hours ago now. “A bit.”

He glanced over his shoulder. Mavis was struck by the picture of him, lying naked in her bed, the long lines of his body softly illuminated by the single lamp, light playing over the deep-cut angles of his muscles.

“May I use your kitchen?” he asked, and Mavis had to shake herself out of her reverie.

“Of course,” she said, only realizing what she’d agreed to a moment later.

But he was already slipping away, snagging some clothes on the way out. Mavis smiled incredulously to herself. What was this luck? How had this happened to her?

She found a robe—a comfy terrycloth number, nothing silky or diaphanous. But somehow she didn’t think Wilson would mind.

Out in the kitchen, she found him dressed in his jeans but no shirt, with half the contents of her cupboards already spread out on the countertops. Milk, eggs, flour, butter, apples, cinnamon...he was focused intently on a mixing bowl, so rather than disturbing him, Mavis took up a position in the doorway and watched.

It was easy to see that he was a competent cook. He moved quickly and purposefully, his hands sure and strong as they cracked eggs, splashed milk without measuring, and mixed things up with easy confidence. He wasn’t looking at a recipe.

“Can I help?” Mavis asked after a few minutes; she was starting to feel lazy, just standing in the doorway and spectating.

“No,” he said firmly, chopping up an apples with quick flashes of her best knife. “I’m always cooking for myself. I want to cook for you.” He glanced over and shot her a grin, an expression that made him look twenty years younger. “You’ll like it, I promise.”

“I have no doubt,” Mavis said, heartfelt. Well, she supposed it wasn’t a hardship to watch a gorgeous shirtless man cooking her a midnight snack.

And phrased that way, it really seemed like she was living in some kind of crazy fantasy.

In what seemed like no time, Wilson had produced spiced-apple pancakes and the fluffiest, dreamiest scrambled eggs she’d ever seen prepared. He laid the table and said, “Now, enjoy.”

Mavis kissed him before she sat down. He caught her up in a tight embrace, then just as quickly let her go. “Sit down, it’ll get cold.”

She thought she saw a hint of military discipline in that, and stifled a smile. She wasn’t going to argue with a regimented presentation of amazing food.

And when she took the first bite, she thought she was going to melt out of her chair. “Oh.” The word was more of a moan. “Oh my goodness. You’re going to have to teach me how to make these.”

Mavis could make pancakes. But she’d never made pancakes like this.

A slow, private grin was spreading over his face. “I don’t know,” he said. “I like the idea of being the only one who can make you make that noise.”

That made her shiver a bit in fearful pleasure. The only one. That sounded like a statement of intent. Could he mean...?

Mavis told herself to stop thinking about the future. Why worry about what was coming, anyway, when she had the most delicious midnight breakfast she’d ever tasted, sitting right here in front of her.

She ate every bite, and Wilson fairly beamed with pride in his cooking. It was endearing as all get-out.

When they were finished, Mavis sat back and said, “Well. I could get used to that.”