My apartment is filled with the mouth-watering scent of fried onions, toasted bread, and coffee. Bless him, Damon remembered the coffee.
“Everything okay?” he asks as I step through the door.
“Yeah. I…John took care of it.” Heat fills my face as I recall why John felt the need to take over my normal duties today. Does everyone know Damon stayed the night? Do they think I slept with him? I’m not sure how I feel about my subordinates knowing about my sex life. It’s never been an issue before, to be honest.
Right now, though, I’m more interested in the eye candy cooking in my kitchen. Cooking! If he cleans, too, I’m locking him up forever.
Damon is leaning over a cast iron pan on the stove, scraping the remnants of egg white into it. Though I smell onions, I can also see peppers and something red—maybe tomatoes—already sautéing. His biceps flex as he stirs the eggs into the vegetables.
Casanova. The name seems wrong now. I admit it was a snap judgment on my part, especially after the way he reacted to me throwing myself at him last night. If he truly was a Casanova-type, he’d have taken what was offered and run before the afterglow subsided. I’m suddenly in the rare position of having to reevaluate someone’s theme song.
Muscles bunch along his back and my eyes are drawn to the dip in the center, leading down to his perfectly rounded ass. He looks completely comfortable in my kitchen, as though he belongs here.
Where the hell did that thought come from? Of course he doesn’t belong there. He’s a means to an end. A physical end.
“I have class in an hour, so you’ll have to eat on your own.” His voice commands my attention and I drag my eyes from his backside to his face. He’s scooping the eggs onto a plate. Laying it on the placemat with a folded napkin and fork, he scoots around the counter to place a quick kiss on my lips. “I’ll stop by tonight, if it’s okay.”
“Yeah, of course.” Amazing that I have a college degree, given the amount of words I’m able to string together with him around. Not that he seems to notice.
“I also want Sunday afternoon. I know the bar’s closed, so you have no excuse.”
“What are we going to do?”
“It’s a surprise. Just agree to go with me.”
It sounds an awful lot like a date. The small voice reminding me that it’s “just sex” is getting quieter. I can hardly hear it anymore.
And that is a scary thought.
I agree, but my insides are churning.
He leans down and gives me a lingering kiss this time, and my body doesn’t really have time to react to the warmth and meaning behind the gesture before he grabs his coat and opens the front door.
Gina is standing there, her key in hand.
“Oh, hey!” She graces Damon with a brilliant smile.
How the hell does she look like a supermodel this early in the morning? She’d probably claim she just threw on the first clothes she came across, but she’s put together like she has a personal stylist. Graphic print tee-shirt, designer jeans, and heels. Heels, at nine in the morning. I narrow my eyes at her, but wait until she’s said goodbye to my unintentional houseguest and the door’s closed behind his retreating form.
“Where have you been?” My tone is harsher than I intended, probably due to the confusion still roiling through me.
“I stayed with a friend, since I figured you needed some privacy.” She winks at me, ignoring my glare. “And I was right, too. He did stay.”
Turning to my coffee is my answer. I don’t really want to talk about it. When I hear faint notes of Lady Marmalade coming from her direction, I ball up my napkin and hurl it at her.
“Is there any more of that?” she asks, unfazed, pointing to my mug.
“I’m not sure how much he made.”
“He made it?” Her eyebrows rise nearly to her hairline.
“He made the eggs, too, but I’m not very hungry. Do you want them?”
“Are you kidding? They smell fantastic.” Without waiting another second, she grabs my fork and digs in. “And they taste even better. Are you sure you don’t want these?”
I shake my head. “Go ahead.”
While she eats the breakfast Damon made, I try to process what happened in the last twelve hours. Kissing him is like nothing I’ve ever known, and he seemed to be just as affected as I was, yet when he saw my hesitation, he stopped. We slept on the couch, curled up, all night. He made me breakfast in the morning, and didn’t mind that I ran out for a few minutes. Nothing about him makes sense!
Dammit, why can’t he act like a normal guy, like all those heat-seeking jerks I see at work every night?
**Author’s note: I tried to find a decent version of the original Lady Marmalade by LaBelle, but all I could find were live versions. If you still want it, here it is: Original Lady Marmalade by LaBelle on Midnight Special.