Page 52 of Taking What's Ours
The next morning, the sun is shining, and any trace of the storm is gone.
When I come upstairs, the aroma of bacon hits my nose. I round the corner and find Baja at the stove, shirtless with a pair of sweat pants hanging low on his hips. My eyes take in his muscular back, then drop to the two dimples at the base of his spine—something I find extremely sexy.
He’s whistling a tune and seems unaware I’m standing here until Rosie’s nails click across the hardwood.
Baja twists. “Oh, you’re up.” He gives me a slow once over, and I’m suddenly rethinking the fact that I’m standing here in only the Royal Bastards t-shirt he loaned me. It hangs to mid-thigh, but still, I probably should have slipped on a pair of jeans.
“Babe, if you’re really wanting to take this slow, you probably should have put on some pants.”
I walk toward him. “Do you want me to go back downstairs?”
“Nope.”
I press against his side and kiss his lips. He dips his head to make it easy for me, so I know he doesn’t object too much. When we break apart, I smile. “Bacon looks delicious.”
He arcs a brow. “That’s not the only thing that looks delicious in this kitchen. Sit down and quit tempting me, or you don’t get any.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Sir? I like that.”
I giggle and take a seat at the table, tucking one leg under me.
He carries a mug of coffee to me. “I just poured this one.”
I cup it in my hands and sip while he returns to the stove.
“You like scrambled eggs?”
“Sure.”
“Good, ‘cause that’s what you’re getting.” He swivels his head and grins at me.
“And if I didn’t, you’d make me something else, wouldn’t you?”
“Sassy little thing, aren’t you?” He winks. “Yeah, I would.”
“Need any help?”
“Nope. It’s better if you sit over there. You come any closer, I won’t be held responsible for what happens.”
“Sounds intriguing. Now I want to know.”
“Oh, you know. And you’d like it, too. I’d make sure of that.”
“Now you’re making me reconsider this whole ‘takin’ it slow’ thing,” I tease.
He whacks a wooden spoon on the edge of the skillet. “You change your mind, you let me know.”
“You’ll be the first.”
His chest shakes with his laughter when he turns his attention to the stove. “I’ve got to go out for a while, but I thought maybe when I get back, we could invite some of the guys for a cookout. That is, if the weather holds out.” He leans to the window over the sink and parts the curtain, staring at the sky.
“I think it’s supposed to be a nice day,” I say.
“Sorry, I’ve been leaving you alone so much.” He removes the skillet from the burner and divides the eggs between two plates, adds a few strips of bacon to each and carries them to the table. “You like ketchup, hot sauce, anything?”
“No thanks,” I say, and he grabs a bottle of hot sauce and sits. He shakes out a generous portion onto his eggs. I munch on a piece of bacon, watching.