He catches me, a slow smile warming his face.
“You’re up,” he says like I live here and this breakfast would be expected.
“I am.” My feet feel stuck in cement, I don’t dare veer closer.
“Hungry?” he asks. A knock lands on the door. “Hang on.” He holds up his finger and answers the door.
My eyes are still transfixed on him, trying to get used to the idea of seeing him in jeans and a V-neck t-shirt.
Roarke’s head swivels in my direction. “It’s the dog walker.”
I nod, still confused by this whole situation.
Ned, the man who’s come every time to take Lucy on a walk, steps into the condo, waving at me.
“Good morning, Ms. Crowley.” He clicks the leash and the sound of four stomping paws barrelling down the hallway rings out, and then Lucy is skidding to a stop in front of her new favorite guy.
Lucy pays no attention to Roarke who is back in the kitchen now.
“I’ll be back in forty or so.” Ned heads out shutting the door behind him.
Lucy never gives me a second look. Traitor.
“Hungry?” Roarke’s voice pulls my attention away from the front door.
“Um.”
Shit, why did I let Ned take Lucy? It was the perfect excuse for me to leave.
“Come and sit. It’s going to be at least forty minutes until you can leave.” His smile is friendly and kind, but I remind myself he staged this sneak attack.
“You planned this.” I break the distance from the hallway to the kitchen.
“What?” he asks the question, but the truth is written all over his face.
“You got me here knowing you’d be home early this morning.”
He dishes up pancakes on a plate and sets them to the side. “Not true.”
Nickel jumps up on the chair next to me and toddles over to sit on my lap.
“He likes you.” He points with his fork to the small ball of fur in my lap.
“Don’t change the subject.” My gaze stays on him.
He turns and opens the fridge, taking out some soft cat food and heads to the laundry room. Nickel jumps off my lap to the floor, scurrying to his bowl.
“Is this Lucy’s food?” he asks me.
“The one in the Ziploc? Yes.”
A second later I hear her food hit her bowl and the sound of water running.
He returns to the kitchen. “There, they’re all set.” He washes his hands and opens the oven pulling out some sort of quiche.
“Just so you know, I’m not a breakfast person.”
He takes the dishes out and heads around the corner to his long table.
“Everyone’s a breakfast person.”
I follow him. “Not me. I’m going to get dressed and be ready when Lucy returns.”
He leans his shoulder on the corner wall of the room between the dining room and kitchen.
“Please don’t make me use a favor.”
His low voice and the undercurrent of pleading softens me when it shouldn’t. My mind must be cloudy from being around him all weekend. Sure, he wasn’t here, but his scent was. He let me glimpse into his personal life. The way everything’s so organized except for one drawer in the laundry room that has a million different batteries, screws and odds and ends. His sheets might have been washed but either his smell is permanently embedded into them or he has some sort of special spray. I betrayed myself by smelling his shampoo and body wash in the shower yesterday.
There’s not a ton of personal pictures, but enough to know there’s a family who loves him somewhere in the world and a group of friends he vacations with a lot.
“Give me one reason I should stay.”
You’re asking a lawyer to give you a reason? Just stay, you obviously want to, my subconscious screams.
“Well, I could list a lot, but I had a shit time yesterday and I just want to get my mind off of it. You owe me nothing, but I’m asking you to stay.”
That’s not what I was thinking would come out of his mouth. I’d thought it would be something with some sexual innuendo. Some promise to have me sprawled out on his counter and his face between my legs. Not that he would want me here to distract him from something that’s bothering him emotionally.
“Let me go get presentable,” I say.
For the first time since I woke, I look down at my cami and shorts. My outfit’s not super skimpy, but there’s not nearly enough fabric for a platonic relationship.
“You look perfect if you ask me.”
My hands touch my messed up ponytail and I imagine what my makeup must look like since I didn’t want to wash my face at two in the morning when I dragged myself from the couch to bed.
“Just when I thought I was safe from your seduction.”
He walks around the kitchen island, his hand extended and I don’t fight it when he captures my hand, tugging me lightly forward.
“You’ll never be safe from my seduction. Sorry to disappoint you.”
It should disappoint me. Newsflash: it doesn’t.
“Come.” He opens his palm and weaves his fingers through mine. An electric current runs up my arm, one fueled by lust, not anger.
I go willingly, and he leads me to the seat that allows me to look out the window.
“How much did you pay for this place?” I ask, daring a personal question.
He laughs from the kitchen and returns a second later with two plates and silverware.
“I suppose you think that’s fair?”
“You know every bit regarding my financial status.”
He sits down and dishes out the quiche, pancakes, and bacon on a plate for me.
“This is way too much food for just us,” I say, looking wide-eyed down at my plate.
“More people should be here any minute.”
“What?” I plant my hands on the armrests to rise.
He chuckles. “See now my company doesn’t seem so bad.” Then he winks.
That wink should be annoying and grate on me, but for some reason it makes me feel more like a teenager than anything.
I shake my head, falling back down to my chair, crossing my legs and leaning back.
After pouring two cups of coffee, he sets one in front of me. “Sugar, right?” He spoons one teaspoon, holding it above my cup.
I nod. “Is there anything you don’t know about me?”
The spoon tips the sugar into the cup, and he stirs it into the dark liquid.
He doesn’t look up at me when he responds. “I admit, I know a lot. I know your routine, or at least I did. You might have changed it since then. I know where you live, the addresses to your cabin in Wisconsin and your condo in Vail. On the way to work, you grab a coffee with one sugar and every Friday you treat yourself to a pastry. I know that your schedule is usually jam-packed with events that you have to wear a cocktail dress and a fake smile to. You work out but only in your home or your friend Tad’s gym. I know you have a membership to Torrio’s, I know the amount of your trust fund when you turned twenty-five. I know how much you’ve inherited, how much your parents are worth. Where your dad golfs and where your mom shops. I know that you don’t buy any games for your phone and only have a select few contacts that you regularly call even though you have fifty times that amount of numbers in your phone.”
He sets the spoon down on the napkin between us and I just stare at him, unable to figure out whether I’m impressed or put off by his little speech.