After the Kiss (Sex, Love & Stiletto 1)

Instead he’d been decked out like a gigolo at a nightclub where he’d simultaneously tried to impress and push away a woman who was getting far too deep under his skin. Not to mention the way he’d gone all caveman on her, grunting at her playboy friend and then rutting all over her on the dance floor.

He’d hurt her. It had been written all over her perfectly made-up face, and it showed now in her puffy eyes.

His heart twisted with regret. He’d made a mistake. A big one. He’d realized it the second that guy Cam had put a hand on her.

Nobody put a hand on Mitchell’s woman.

And Julie Greene was definitely his.

Mitchell quietly wandered around the dark apartment until he found his discarded black shirt, lip curling in disgust. He hadn’t liked the shirt even when it had been freshly pressed. Now that it was wrinkled, it might as well have “walk of shame” scrawled across the front in large neon letters.

Stepping into his jeans, he surveyed the contents of Julie’s fridge. Nothing that could have passed as breakfast. Not that he would have been much help if there were. His cooking skills tapped out at cereal, and her milk was four days past its sell-by date.

But his stomach was reminding him that he hadn’t eaten last night, and the stale box of Triscuits on her shelf wasn’t going to cut it. He crept back into the bedroom to retrieve his shoes and socks, amused to see that Julie had flung herself onto her stomach, kicking the covers off and displaying one very fine ass to his admiring eyes. Reluctantly he tugged the sheet up to her waist. The sight of two perfectly ro

und butt cheeks had made him hard again, and after the way he’d used her body last night, he at least owed her a lazy morning.

She stirred slightly and began snoring again, and Mitchell shook his head. He’d have to make a concentrated effort to beat her to sleep if they were going to spend the night together again.

And he wanted to spend the night together again.

The question was whether she’d give him the chance.

Mitchell backed out of the bedroom and, after putting his shoes on, pulled out his cell to search for breakfast. There was a bagel place around the corner, and with any luck they’d have decent coffee, since Julie had a pot but no actual coffee.

Reluctantly he picked up the clutch Julie had dropped by her front door and rummaged among half a dozen lip products before finding her keys and dropping them into his pocket.

Most of the city didn’t rise until ten on weekends, especially in this part of town, so there was virtually no line. Fifteen minutes later, he was creeping back into Julie’s apartment, armed with two toasted sesame bagels and large coffees.

He set Julie’s cup and bagel on the nightstand, planning to eat his in the kitchen so as not to wake her. But the scent of coffee snuck under the veil of sleep and had her blinking at him in groggy surprise.

“You’re still here,” she said, looking adorably baffled.

“Yeah,” he said with a small smile. The surprise on her face wounded him, even though he knew it was justified. Last night he’d all but told her that she was a booty call and then fucked her five ways to Sunday before passing out in her bed.

She had every reason to expect he’d slink home in the early morning hours. And that killed him.

“I didn’t want to go home.” His eyes caught hers and held them, and he saw immediately that she knew what his presence here meant.

Knew that the breakfast was an apology. Or at least the start of one.

She looked away and started to reach for the coffee, but winced. “I feel like I got hit by a bus. I think I used muscles I didn’t even know I had.”

He wiggled his eyebrows as he handed her the coffee cup, his eyes locked on her exposed breasts. She followed his gaze and rolled her eyes. “Can you hand me a T-shirt?”

Mitchell didn’t move, instead taking a very deliberate bite of bagel. “Why would I do that?”

“Because I’m fairly sure that bagel crumbs on my boobs isn’t going to rate very highly on the sexy factor, and I’d like to get laid again.”

He paused in mid-chew. “By me?”

“That depends.”

“On?”

“On whether or not you get me a damned T-shirt.”

As much as he’d been looking forward to breakfast with a view, he opened the dresser drawer Julie had indicated and pulled out the first T-shirt on top of the pile.