Page 53 of Taking What's Ours

Setting the bottle back on the table he digs in to his food. “Mmm. That’s good.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“You don’t do spicy food?” he asks.

“Not really.”

“We’re not going to get along then.”

“Oh, no? Deal’s off, huh?”

“Yup. I don’t do bland food.”

“Just because it’s not spicy doesn’t mean it’s bland.”

“Says you.”

I giggle and dig in to my food. “I’m getting used to you cooking for me.”

“You are, huh? Maybe I should let you have a turn.”

“I don’t really cook. Deal breaker?”

“Nope. I’ve got a feeling nothing you could do would be a deal breaker for me.”

“Maybe I’m horrible in bed,” I tease.

That gives him pause. “Please, God, don’t say that. It can’t be true.”

I laugh and waggle my brows. “Guess you’ll have to wait and see.”

“Now you’re just being mean. How long I gotta wait, babe?”

I shrug. “We’ll see.”

“There are those words again.” He glances at Rosie who’s been waiting patiently for a piece of bacon. “You hear that, girl? You’re mom’s a tease.”

Rosie licks her mouth, drool coming out of the corner.

Baja grabs a slice of bacon and holds his hand out. “Shake.”

Rosie gives him her paw and gets rewarded with the slice.

Baja scratches her ears. “Good girl.” His phone goes off with a text, and he looks at it. “I’ve got to get going.” He carries his plate to the kitchen, then returns and kisses the top of my head. “Help yourself to anything in the fridge. I’ll try to be back sometime around three.”

With that, he goes to his room and closes the door.

I finish eating, and he reemerges fully dressed with his cut on. My gaze takes him in from head to toe—the biker boots, the chain to his wallet, the rings on his fingers, the leather cut, its patches worn. Every time I see him like this, my breath catches. He looks good, powerful, formidable. He looks like the kind of man who, no matter what door he walked through, would own the room.

“See you later, Elaina.” He walks out the door to the deck and down the stairs.

Rosie watches him go with a low whimper. She’s already attached to him.

“I know how you feel, girl,” I whisper.

It’s midafternoon, and I’m curled up on the couch watching tv. I’ve slipped my jeans on, but kept Baja’s shirt because it makes me feel closer to him. “Should we make some popcorn, Rosie?”

She comes to her feet and stares at the door. A moment later, there’s a pounding on it.