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It’s like I’ve slapped her. She gasps, her face going pale. “What?”
“I don’t have coffee, or a coffeemaker, for that matter.”
I give her what I hope is an apologetic, peacemaking smile, because Anna starts to bristle. Like a fricking hedgehog getting ready to attack.
“How on earth do you not have a coffeemaker in your house?” Pacing the length of my kitchen, she lifts her hands up in appalled outrage. “In this gorgeous kitchen?”
“I suck at making it and get my coffee at a shop?” I offer helpfully.
Her nostrils flare in a huff. “You can’t make coffee? Oh, come on, Drew. It’s just grinds and water! Gah!”
“Believe me,” I say as I pour her a glass of orange juice, “coffee can be royally fucked up.”
Her lips quirk as she glances at the mess that used to be eggs. “Oh, I believe you.”
It takes me two strides to reach her. She squeals when I clasp her waist and lift her onto the counter. But her thighs instantly part to make room for me, and I step in closer, setting my hands on the full curve of her hips, as she clutches my shoulders.
“So.” I nip her upper lip, then her bottom one. “Now that we’ve established that you turn into a raging beast without your morning coffee—”
“I wouldn’t say ‘raging beast’...” She pauses with a grin and a blush. “Okay, fine, I’m a raging beast.”
“A cute one, though.” I kiss her once. Twice. “If you had your choice of coffee, what would it be?”
Her legs wrap around my hips, drawing me in as she explores my neck with soft lips. When she hits that spot, that damn spot that I feel down to my balls, I groan.
Her smile imprints on my skin. “Espresso,” she murmurs, still busy with that spot. “Most mornings, though, I like lattes or a cappuccino.”
“I could be wrong—” I lift a section of her heavy curls and kiss behind her ear “—but I don’t think a simple coffeemaker would do the trick.”
“You’re right. You’d need a moka pot.”
“What the heck is that?” I kiss my way to her jaw.
Humor warms her voice when she answers. “It’s a pot for making espresso.” Anna pulls back with a slight frown. “Sadly, I can’t make it nearly as well as my mom. I really need one of those fancy espresso machines to achieve perfection. But I can’t afford that.”
“Well then,” I say, “let’s go get you some coffee.”
“We’re doing carryout,” Anna says against my shoulder. “I’m a freaking hair catastrophe.”
“What? You’re perfect.”
“Drew,” she says in exasperation, “my hair looks as if I’ve been wind tunnel testing.”
I lean back to inspect her, and she crosses her arms over her chest, her chin lifting in defiance. Okay, so her hair is a bit wild, swarming around her delicate face in a dark red, angry cloud. But that only makes her look like she’s spent hours in my bed. I approve.
Wrapping my arms around her shoulders, I pull her in close, because, really, I can’t keep my hands or mouth off her. “You’re beautiful.”
I’m not surprised when Anna rolls her eyes. My prickly girl.
“Beautiful.” She says the word like it’s a disease. “Typical.”
“Why typical?” I fight a smile. She thinks I don’t know her. But I do. And I know exactly where she’ll go with this.
Her nose wrinkles, which makes her cheeks plump. Though I’ve caged her in with my arms, she manages to lift a hand and tick off her points on her fingers. “Why not funny, or smart, or interesting?”
I grab a finger with my lips and suck it in my mouth, making her shiver. Slowly, I draw back releasing her finger with care.
“You know you’re all of that.” I run my thumb along the crest of her cheek. “But I don’t think you know how beautiful you are. So that’s what I chose to tell you.”
