Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 92474 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92474 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
“Thank you for the other day,” she told him. “You didn’t have to help, but I appreciate it.”
“You shouldn’t have stood between them. That was unsafe. Don’t do it again.”
“Don’t do it again?” she repeated.
“Yes, don’t do it again.”
Wow. He really did like to give orders.
“You could have been hurt.” He frowned.
“So could you.”
He scoffed. “Hardly.”
She wanted to ask again what he’d done with that guy. But she also felt like maybe she didn’t want to know.
He finished off the last bite of sticky bun.
“Would you like another one? On the house,” she said, feeling slightly awkward that he’d paid for this one.
She shifted in her seat, but he gently grabbed her wrist. “No, thank you. And if I wanted one, I’d pay for it.”
“But you paid for mine when you didn’t have to.”
“Yes, I did.”
“Why?” she asked.
“Because I wanted to.” It was said so matter-of-factly.
“Do you always do what you want?” she asked.
“No. And I probably shouldn’t have this time either. But I couldn’t stop myself.”
She was confused. Buying her a sticky bun was something he couldn’t stop himself from doing? That didn’t make a lot of sense.
But there was something so weary and worn down in his gaze that she didn’t press him. Instead, she sat, and when he pointedly looked down at the sticky bun, she started to eat it again.
“Are you all right?” she blurted out.
His eyebrows rose. “Yes, of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
Don’t ask about his knuckles. Don’t ask about his knuckles.
“Eat,” he pressed.
“You don’t have some weird eating fetish, do you?”
Oh, holy crap. She smacked her forehead with the palm of her hand. What was wrong with her? Really? This is why she should just stay in the kitchen. Although she had no trouble talking to her other regulars.
It was him.
It was his fault.
That made her feel slightly better. Only, he was the last person she wanted to embarrass herself in front of.
Damn it. She needed to get her act together.
The worst thing was that she managed to ask him that at the exact same time as he took a sip of coffee. The liquid burst out of him, spraying over the table. She didn’t know why, but that made her feel better. Seeing him have a human reaction. Doing something less than perfect. He choked, trying to catch his breath. She jumped up and whacked him on the back.
Dear Lord. He was solid. Like, how did a person get that hard?
“Do you have any fat on your body? Your shoulders are like rock.”
When he stopped coughing, she sat back down. “Water. You need water.” Jumping up, she raced over and got him a glass of water, ignoring Anita’s shocked face.
Please don’t let her ask about what was going on.
Rushing back, she handed him the glass of water. Taking it, he drank it down. Should that be sexy? Watching him drink?
She had it so bad. There was something wrong with her. Maybe she was ill. She put her hand on her forehead.
“Gracen?”
“Hmm? Oh, sorry, just checking for a fever.”
“Do you feel unwell?” he asked, frowning.
“No.”
He blinked.
“I just . . . I can’t believe I said that. I’m so sorry. That’s just embarrassing.”
“What kind of eating fetish do you think I have?”
He didn’t look offended, just a bit surprised.
“I don’t know. I don’t know why I said that.” She twisted her fingers into each other. “I’m such a dork sometimes.”
“Sit,” he commanded.
She slipped back into the chair. Yikes, how did he do that? Reaching out, he placed his finger under her chin and tilted her face back. “You are not a dork. Don’t say that. Understand?”
“Yes.” She had to bite off the sir. Damn, that was hard. There was something about him that called to her. She’d often wanted to explore her submissive side. But the few times she’d tried to find someone . . . well, yeah, they hadn’t been good.
“I can assure you that I don’t have an eating fetish,” he told her.
What about other kinds of fetishes?
Thank the Lord she didn’t say that out loud.
His phone buzzed, and he frowned, looking down at it with a sigh.
“You have to go?” She should be relieved. It would end the disaster that had been the last twenty minutes.
But all she felt was a wave of sadness. Would he even be back?
“Yes,” was all he said. Standing, he reached into his wallet to pull out some cash.
“You don’t need to leave a tip,” she protested. “I’ll clean this up. And you bought me breakfast. My turn next time.”
If that ever happened. Even if he came back, she should probably hide.
Without saying anything, he put a twenty down on the table. She shook her head. It was way too much, of course. Nearly four times what the coffee and buns cost.
She had to resist the urge to lean into him, even if his scent was so delicious it made her head spin. He smelled like leather and spice.