Page 68 of Falling for the Playboy Pilot

25

DALTON

There was a moment of panic before everything became clear. And then there was another moment of panic when I remembered every sordid detail.

Janna was here. In my bed. With me. My bachelor fortress had been breached, and I wasn’t mad. Not even a little. She was soft and warm, and damn, she smelled good. I could smell myself on her and that was fucking hot.

I slid my hand under the sheet to glide over her breast. She murmured softly and tried to curl into me. That was a good sign. I had been a little worried she might have some regrets.

I sat up, listening to her steady breathing. In the past, if a woman stayed, I’d walk away. Run away. Not that I ever let a woman stay. I went to their place or their hotel. It was so much easier to use an excuse to get the hell out of their bed with a noncommitment to call.

But this was different. Janna was different. I didn’t want her gone.

I slipped out of bed, placing my pillow where my body had been. I wanted her in bed for as long as possible. I pulled on my boxers and walked barefoot into the bathroom. Then I made my way to the kitchen.

The house was filled with a citrusy scent. At first, I assumed it was a candle. Then I remembered I didn’t burn any candles. It was her. That vibrant scent that clung to her. Like she’d spent time in an orange grove. It made me smile.

I grabbed the coffee grinder and beans I’d bought last week. I stepped out onto the porch and closed the door behind me. I turned on the grinder, hoping the noise didn’t wake her up. I wasn’t used to being quiet in the morning. Things were definitely different today.

With the beans ground, I walked back into the kitchen and listened. I didn’t hear her moving around. I quickly started the coffee and then pulled open the fridge to check supplies. Since I was planning on spending a lot more time in the dorms, it was a good excuse to use up the food in the fridge.

I pulled out the eggs and bacon and dug around in the pantry until I found the pancake mix. I hadn’t cooked for anyone else in a long time. And I wasn’t exactly a gourmet. I was a simple guy, and after surviving on Army food for so many years, I didn’t think much about making anything more than edible.

I couldn’t explain why, but I wanted to do something nice for Janna. Treat her right and she’ll keep coming back.

And fuck, that was a scary thought.

I was acting like I was running a B and B and trying to impress her. Like I wanted her to keep coming back and sleeping in my bed. That was new. I didn’t even know how to process that thought. It was foreign. And it felt weird.

But weird in a good way.

I almost whistled while I cooked.

What the hell?

One night of sex—hot sex—and I was a sap. I was standing in my kitchen wearing nothing but my briefs and making breakfast for a woman. There was no way I would have ever imagined I would be in this position.

Ever.

I took a sip of my coffee and flipped a pancake with my other hand.

And then I smelled it: citrus.

My cock twitched like it had somehow developed an olfactory sense and it too knew she was near. I glanced over my shoulder and there was more than twitching in my pants. My cock was growing harder by the second.

She walked in slowly like she wasn’t sure if she should be moving around my cabin. She was wearing one of my T-shirts. It spilled over the curve of her hips, just barely covering the part of her I liked the most. If she lifted her arms, I’d get a full view. I considered asking her to reach for something on top of the fridge, but that would give me a flash of her ass.

That wasn’t a bad idea either.

Her hair was a mess and that gave me a great deal of pleasure. I had done that. My hands in her hair had twisted all those silky blonde strands into a mess that would have made Medusa proud. Her lips were full and there was a bit of redness around her mouth and jaw.

I did that, too.

And that mark on her neck. I remembered the moment I gave it to her. It had taken all my self-control to pull back before it was a full-blown teenage-style hickey. I had no problem leaving hickeys in other places, but I didn’t want to raise questions when we got back to the field.

“Morning,” I said. Once again, it felt like I gargled with gravel. She did that to me. I was not good at the morning after shit.

“Good morning,” she said with a shy smile. She ran her hand over her hair, and I could tell she was nervous.