dropped his spatula, and it clattered on the floor.
Just as he started to slip his hands into my hair, my hands hit the handgun tucked into the small of his back. I broke the kiss, stepped back, and gave him a push.
He rocked back on his heels. “What the hell was that for?”
“You looked grouchy. Feel better now?” Already, I was regretting my impulse, but I decided to bluff it out and grinned. “I want a good breakfast now. Food, that is, not sex.”
He put the back of his hand to his mouth and blew out a soft, smiling curse. “You’re always trouble.”
“You must be expecting more trouble than me if you’re packing that weapon at this hour. And I’m not talking about a hard-on.”
“The gun? Aw, sometimes characters come in here early, looking to score enough money for their daily drugs.”
“Why don’t you just lock the door?”
“I was unloading the truck. No big deal.”
Except to me. I hated guns. To an ex-marine like Flynn, though, carrying a weapon was like wearing a wristwatch—nothing out of the ordinary.
My feelings toward Flynn were definitely mixed. Our history was long and complicated—with good chapters and bad ones, too. Sure, he was still the sexiest thing on two legs. But the fact that he was insinuating himself into Sage’s life, experimenting at being her father, was a slow process I had decided to watch from afar. If their relationship went sour, I planned on being on Sage’s side.
Besides, there was the small complication of Flynn living with Marla Krantz now, a part-time hostess for the restaurant and probably one of the most beautiful women in the city.
He was still touching his mouth—maybe savoring my kiss just a little. His eyes were flickering with amusement. “I heard a rumor about you.”
“What kind of rumor?”
“That you quit seducing every man who tickles your fancy. It must be true if you’re kissing me all of a sudden.”
“Very funny.”
“What’s funny is you giving up sex, hot stuff.”
“Where’d you hear that?”
“Around. How’s the abstinence going?”
“Terrible. I’m ready to strip you naked right here.”
He laughed easily—an old friend who knew me well. “How about breakfast instead?”
“I hope you made a hell of a lot of food.” I kept my voice light. I boosted myself up onto the counter and sat back, bracing my hands behind me like I was sunning myself on a beach. “I need to satisfy my cravings. Eggs and bacon? Waffles? What’s on the menu?”
He shook his head, amused, and turned back to the stove. Grabbing a pepper grinder, he ground fresh pepper into the sauté pan where a perfect omelet was just crisping up at the edges. “Ready in a minute. Just don’t let Rooney get into my soup bones, okay? And keep your boots out of my clean napkins.”
I crossed one leg over the other. “I wonder if Rachael Ray gives orders like that?”
“I’m ten times the cook Rachael Ray is.”
“Prove it, big guy.”
Flynn grabbed a plate in one hand, the handle of the sauté pan in the other. He flipped the omelet effortlessly, then reached for parsley. I liked watching him work his magic. A minute later, he skimmed my breakfast onto the counter in front of me. He walked away and came back with a fork and a napkin.
I leaned over the plate and inhaled the heavenly fragrance. The omelet had hunks of asparagus and red peppers, a hint of cheese, and bits of prosciutto, too.
While Flynn was busy pouring coffee into two white mugs, I tossed a corner of the omelet to Rooney. He dropped his bone and gulped it whole.
When Flynn came back, sipping coffee, I said, “What are you doing in here so early? Don’t you have minions who can do your shopping?”
He slid the other mug to me. “I like doing it myself. Especially this week.”
I took my first bite. The eggs were creamy and rich—just enough salt, just enough pepper. Flynn did a lot of things very well. But cooking was his art. Around a second mouthful, I said,
Just as he started to slip his hands into my hair, my hands hit the handgun tucked into the small of his back. I broke the kiss, stepped back, and gave him a push.
He rocked back on his heels. “What the hell was that for?”
“You looked grouchy. Feel better now?” Already, I was regretting my impulse, but I decided to bluff it out and grinned. “I want a good breakfast now. Food, that is, not sex.”
He put the back of his hand to his mouth and blew out a soft, smiling curse. “You’re always trouble.”
“You must be expecting more trouble than me if you’re packing that weapon at this hour. And I’m not talking about a hard-on.”
“The gun? Aw, sometimes characters come in here early, looking to score enough money for their daily drugs.”
“Why don’t you just lock the door?”
“I was unloading the truck. No big deal.”
Except to me. I hated guns. To an ex-marine like Flynn, though, carrying a weapon was like wearing a wristwatch—nothing out of the ordinary.
My feelings toward Flynn were definitely mixed. Our history was long and complicated—with good chapters and bad ones, too. Sure, he was still the sexiest thing on two legs. But the fact that he was insinuating himself into Sage’s life, experimenting at being her father, was a slow process I had decided to watch from afar. If their relationship went sour, I planned on being on Sage’s side.
Besides, there was the small complication of Flynn living with Marla Krantz now, a part-time hostess for the restaurant and probably one of the most beautiful women in the city.
He was still touching his mouth—maybe savoring my kiss just a little. His eyes were flickering with amusement. “I heard a rumor about you.”
“What kind of rumor?”
“That you quit seducing every man who tickles your fancy. It must be true if you’re kissing me all of a sudden.”
“Very funny.”
“What’s funny is you giving up sex, hot stuff.”
“Where’d you hear that?”
“Around. How’s the abstinence going?”
“Terrible. I’m ready to strip you naked right here.”
He laughed easily—an old friend who knew me well. “How about breakfast instead?”
“I hope you made a hell of a lot of food.” I kept my voice light. I boosted myself up onto the counter and sat back, bracing my hands behind me like I was sunning myself on a beach. “I need to satisfy my cravings. Eggs and bacon? Waffles? What’s on the menu?”
He shook his head, amused, and turned back to the stove. Grabbing a pepper grinder, he ground fresh pepper into the sauté pan where a perfect omelet was just crisping up at the edges. “Ready in a minute. Just don’t let Rooney get into my soup bones, okay? And keep your boots out of my clean napkins.”
I crossed one leg over the other. “I wonder if Rachael Ray gives orders like that?”
“I’m ten times the cook Rachael Ray is.”
“Prove it, big guy.”
Flynn grabbed a plate in one hand, the handle of the sauté pan in the other. He flipped the omelet effortlessly, then reached for parsley. I liked watching him work his magic. A minute later, he skimmed my breakfast onto the counter in front of me. He walked away and came back with a fork and a napkin.
I leaned over the plate and inhaled the heavenly fragrance. The omelet had hunks of asparagus and red peppers, a hint of cheese, and bits of prosciutto, too.
While Flynn was busy pouring coffee into two white mugs, I tossed a corner of the omelet to Rooney. He dropped his bone and gulped it whole.
When Flynn came back, sipping coffee, I said, “What are you doing in here so early? Don’t you have minions who can do your shopping?”
He slid the other mug to me. “I like doing it myself. Especially this week.”
I took my first bite. The eggs were creamy and rich—just enough salt, just enough pepper. Flynn did a lot of things very well. But cooking was his art. Around a second mouthful, I said,
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