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Because they’re all intimate places. That’s how.
That was a sobering thought, and one she didn’t particularly want to latch on to.
“Let’s go home, Lizzie.”
And she was glad to hear him say that.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
WHEN HE WOKE UP, the ceiling was unfamiliar. And he could honestly say that had never happened before.
He did not spend the night with women. They didn’t spend the night with him. It had never happened. But they’d gone back to Elizabeth’s—Lizzie’s—cabin, and he’d spent the whole night making love to her in that bed. And then he’d fallen asleep, holding her close to his body, listening to her heartbeat until sleep had taken him too.
Hell.
He got up and looked around the room. He grimaced when he saw his jeans. It was sweatpants o’clock. But, he hadn’t brought anything with him, so it couldn’t be helped. He put his jeans on and went out into the kitchen and started a pot of coffee. Then he hunted through the fridge, took out some eggs and bacon, and set them on the counter. It didn’t take long for him to hunt down basic biscuit ingredients. He was a grown-ass man. He knew how to throw together a biscuit. He had lived by himself for a lot of years.
He put the biscuit dough together, made little balls from them and popped them into the oven, then started scrambling eggs, a dish towel draped over his shoulder. He was whistling, because he was in a great mood, because he’d had sex so many times last night he’d lost count. And what man wouldn’t be in a good mood about that?
And sure, it had something to do with her. Of course it did. It couldn’t be all about her, then not be about her. It was definitely about her. She was everything.
That reverberated uncomfortably in his chest as he whisked the eggs and poured them into the frying pan.
The bacon was sizzling away on the back burner, and Elizabeth came out wearing a fluffy white bathrobe, her blond hair a complete disaster.
“Is that bacon?”
“Yes ma’am,” he said.
She stood there staring at him. “Did I have so much sex that my brain is short-circuiting and I’m having insane pornographic fantasies during the day now?”
“How is this pornographic?” he asked. “I’m just shirtless.”
“You’re cooking breakfast. I could have an orgasm just thinking about that.”
“I’m happy to watch.”
“How about you watch me over coffee instead?”
“I mean, I’d rather watch you come, but whatever.”
She turned pink and walked over to the cabinet where the mugs were.
She took out two. And poured two cups.
She handed one to him. Then she leaned against the counter and continued to watch him cook. The oven timer dinged, and he went over and pulled out the biscuits.
“You did not make biscuits,” she said.
“I did. I’ve lived alone for a long time, and I don’t believe in starving.”
“But you just... Made biscuits. Even I just buy a can.”
“What do you mean, even you? That sounds sexist, Elizabeth. And frankly I’m shocked.”
“I don’t think you are,” she said.
“You’re right. I’m not. Not even a little bit.”
