Page 38 of Daring to Love

I startle and look across my shoulder. Finlay stands in the doorway, and I swallow at the way his muscular arms flex as he leans against the doorjamb, watching me.

“Pardon me?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he lowers his head as his eyes move from my feet up my thighs in a slow, sensual perusal. I stand still, breakfast entirely forgotten as it spits in the pan on the stove, the spatula raised in my other hand. He lingers on the outline of my breasts against my robe, and I clench my thighs. The lust shining in his gaze makes my mouth dry up, and as he watches me, I take in the state of undress he’s in.

He’s only wearing his jeans, the top button undone, and revealing a, what’s the word? Ah, yes, a happy trail. I swallow, but it’s no use: seeing him drinking me in has me parched.

Perhaps wearing my robe wasn’t the best idea – it’s a scrap of white, lace material that barely covers my bum, but I didn’t want to wake him when I’d finished my shower, so it’s all I had to wear.

“You cooked for me, sweetheart?”

He prowls towards me, and I smile slowly.

“I like to cook, and I was hungry. What kind of a woman would I be if I didn’t ask you to have breakfast with me?”

He chuckles and looks down to the pan, his hand raised to caress my cheek, running his knuckles down. I love the way he makes me feel when he does that, and he doesn’t even know.

“You always cook?”

I roll my eyes, releasing a small smile when he moves and stands at my back, embracing me from behind. His arms rest around my middle, and warmth spreads inside me at the intimacy nature.

Fin likes to cuddle. Yay, me.

“No, but when I have time, I do.”

He hums deeply in his throat as he buries his face in the crook of my neck, his body completely plastered to mine. It reminds me of our height differences, but I don’t mind – in fact, it makes me feel cherished, and protected. As if no harm can come to me without going through him first.

My fingers tingle, and I ache to reach behind and up, wrapping my seeking fingers in his full hair…to hold him to me tightly, but if I don’t get the bacon out to drip on the plate next to the stove, our breakfast will be ruined, and I can’t have that.

Still, a thrill goes through me at the touch of his wandering hands, and there is that formidable feeling again – that I hold a certain power over this man.

But I know it’s not true.

He holds control of both my body and my heart, and I don’t ever want to let him go.

I sigh deeply, my head resting on his pecs, when his mouth touches the sensitive skin behind my ear.

“Careful,” I let out on yet another shaky breath. “We need to eat.”

He groans, but then nods and takes a step back.

“It’s your own fault I can’t keep my hands to myself, Amelie.”

I shake my head.

“Don’t be silly.” I jerk my chin at the cupboard next to us. “Set the table, please.”

His arms squeeze my middle once before he releases me. I miss his touch at once, but I also need my food, and right now, that takes precedence.

“You want to eat in the breakfast nook or in your dining room?”

“The nook, I think.”

We work together well, I muse, as I top off our breakfast with scrambled eggs. The silence is relaxed despite the hungry way he looks at me as he walks between the nook and the cupboards in my narrow but elongated kitchen, and I feel lightheaded.

Either it’s because he’s drugging me, or my metabolism is done with waiting for fuel.

My bet is it’s a little bit of both.