Page 11 of On Her Terms

Oh, but it did once, and it was so damn good.

All righty then. On that note I step from the bathroom and glance around to find Luca in the kitchen. I take another sip of coffee and set my cup on the counter. I’m about to slip out when Luca points a spatula at me.

“Sit.”

Ribbons of need swirl through me at his assertiveness. I’m not sure what that’s all about. I’m the one who’s always in control, always calling the shots, but last night when he took charge of me, it awakened something needy inside me, something I never even knew existed.

“You’re not going anywhere until I feed you. What kind of guy do you think I am, anyway?”

Oh, if he only knew.

“I don’t normally eat breakfast,” I say, but glance over at the counter to see what smells so good. My stomach takes that moment to grumble.

“Maybe not, but we worked up quite the appetite last night and you’re going to eat.”

“Maybe I work up an appetite like that every night,” I say, having no doubt he does the same himself. I remember his reputation back at Oxford.

He flips the pancake, turns and leans back against the counter, crossing his feet at the ankle. Seriously, could he make the pose look any sexier? I want to tell him to put a shirt on already, but I don’t want him to know the true effect his near nakedness has on me.

“Is that right?” he asks.

“That’s right.”

“Is that why you don’t want to get married? You like having a different guy in your bed every night?” He shrugs. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that, I’m just curious.” He flips the pancakes again and then plates them, sliding them across the island. I breathe in the delicious smell as he grabs the syrup.

“Why so curious?” I ask as I pour a generous amount of syrup over my pancakes.

“It’s the lawyer in me.”

“It’s the lawyer in me that keeps me single.”

He forks a big bite into his mouth, chews and then says, “How so?”

“I’m a divorce lawyer. I see the worst in people all the time, and if you know anything about my family, the guys move from woman to woman constantly.” Tate’s dad, Uncle Don, is the latest example. He married his fourth wife several months ago. Half the family didn’t bother skipping work to attend. Carson family weddings have become so run-of-the-mill... Sounds scornful but it’s the truth.

“Tate’s not like that.”

I smile. “No, he’s one of the good guys.”

“Then you’re saying there are good guys out there?”

I laugh. “Way to twist my words. You must win a lot of cases.”

“I win enough.” He takes another bite, lounging against the island.

“You really don’t want to get married. I never would have guessed that about you,” he says, redirecting the conversation back to me.

“I don’t do relationships, don’t do love and I don’t sleep with the same guy twice. Believe me, I know happily-ever-after doesn’t exist. I see that every day.”

A moment of silence as he absorbs that, and then he says, “Your job is doing a number on you. Do you even like what you do?”

I take a long moment to think about it. “Some

days, I guess.”

“You did family law at Oxford?”

A question, not a statement, but I answer anyway. “That’s right.”