Fallen Rogue by Amy Rench Page A

back up. The swirling blue gaze virtually stripped the towel right off her freshly scrubbed body. The air between them sizzled with desire. She knew the feeling. There was something inexplicably hot about a manly man cooking.
    “Uh, um…” He blinked and cleared his throat. “This’ll be ready in a minute.” He shook his head and turned his attention back to the steaming pan. “I set out some clothes for you in the bedroom. We can throw yours in the washer later.” He gave her a rueful sideways glance. “Again.”
    Rapping her knuckles on the counter, she nodded with a smile and walked toward the room with the big bed. Spread out on top of the comforter were a pair of well-worn gray sweatpants and a soft cotton T-shirt. The black T sported a faded green and gold Minnesota North Stars emblem on the chest that just screamed Rome. She hardly knew him, but somehow, it was right. She tossed the towel on the floor and pulled on the clothes—his clothes. The fit was large, but comfy from wear.
    Harper bent to pick up the towel and saw a pair ofthick, gray wool socks on the bed as well. Donning them, she relished the cozy, cushy feel as she padded to the bathroom to spread the towel on the wooden rack. She then returned to the kitchen to see Rome setting full plates on the wooden table in front of the television. He then brought out two frosty bottles of water, setting them on coasters.
    Smiling at the strange thought of a man using coasters, she sank into the nearest beanbag chair and grabbed one of the steaming plates, along with one of the nearby forks. The cheesy omelet tasted even better than it looked and smelled as she took the first scrumptious bite. It simply melted in her mouth.
    “Mmm.” Harper couldn’t help the moan that escaped. “Good.” She shoved another forkful into her watering mouth.
    “Cooking’s kind of a hobby of mine,” Rome said through his own mouthful. “But don’t tell anyone.” He lowered his voice and gave her a mock severe look. And added a killer wink.
    “My lips are sealed.” She brought her fingers up to her mouth, mimicking the turning of a lock and key. Then she frowned. “Well, they’re sealed after I finish eating.” She gave him a playful wink back and smiled at his reactive grin.
    So, he cooked. Something she was admittedly lousy at. Most everyone had a hobby. She thought his would be fixing motorbikes or snowboarding. Something rough and tough. But it was also somehow fitting that a strong, confident man like him would cook. Actual food, no less, not just reheated premade stuff. His joking about keeping it a secret was for show. He had a confidence in everything he did. And he did eggs very well.
    Harper finished her omelet in silence and then studied Rome while she crunched on a piece of cinnamonsugar toast. His muscles were tensed, as if he was upset and wanted nothing but to spring away from there. He was wearing jeans and a black T-shirt, which she was beginning to think was his usual garb. The shirt hugged his chest and shoulders like a second skin. Corded muscles flexed along his forearms as he consumed his meal. His jaw sported dark stubble and his close-cropped hair looked a tad mussed. Rugged and sexy. Like her own personal model for the annual firemen’s calendar. Being able to look at him was the one bright spot in this whole thing right now.
    As if sensing her gaze, he took a deep breath, but kept his eyes on his own plate.
    “I didn’t know they’d hurt you,” he said quietly. “I mean, I did. I know exactly what they do there, but I…” His voice trailed off and he took another bite. His jaw was hard with tension as he chomped hard. She watched him swallow and sigh heavily through his nose. “I didn’t know what to do, Harper. Your power—or whatever it is—it’s like nothing I’d ever seen. It scared me.” He took another deep breath and unleashed his blue gaze upon her. “I’m so very sorry.”
    Sitting there, enraptured by him, Harper