True Colors by Joyce Lamb Page A

toward him with a smile, faintly disappointed to see that he’d donned his white T-shirt. “Good morning.”
    He studied her face for a moment, eyes narrowed and critical. Any second now he would probably try to take her temperature. She figured she must look better than she had in the mirror earlier. Caffeine and a couple of bacon strips—not to mention the sight of the tantalizing beefcake snoozing on her sofa—had done wonders to perk her up.
    “I’m fine,” she said when he continued to scrutinize. “I had a bad day yesterday, but it’s over.”
    “You sure?” he asked, Scope-fresh breath wafting over her face.
    “Positive.” She took a chance and sealed the assurance with a kiss, one hand holding the plate of bacon, the other resting against his stubbled cheek.
    He didn’t respond at first, and she thought, Crap, here we go again. Somebody fetch me a dunce cap.
    But then he started kissing her back, and she nearly dropped the bacon as he stepped into her, forcing her back against the counter. He angled his head to take the kiss deeper, one hand settling at the curve of her waist, the other coming up to cup the back of her neck.
    He tasted like cool water and mint, and she sank into his scents and textures, losing herself in the stroke of his tongue, the contact of his warm hand against her nape, the growing nudge of his erection against her hip.
    He lifted his mouth from hers just an inch. “You have no idea how much I’ve been wanting you,” he breathed against her cheek.
    Her knees weakened, and the bacon plate almost slid off her hand. Luckily, she held on to her composure and the dinnerware. “I have a pretty good idea,” she replied, canting one hip against the bulge in his cargo shorts.
    He groaned, low and hot. “There’s nothing sexier than a beautiful woman holding a plate of fresh-fried bacon.”
    She thought he’d kiss her again, perhaps venture a palm up to her breast to cop a quick feel, but instead he eased back and rescued the plate. “Shall we eat?”
    She stood frozen in shock as he placed the bacon on the table, then moved to the coffeemaker to pour himself a cup. Again with the food over sex? What the—
    “Does your coffee need freshening?” he asked over his shoulder.
    “Uh, sure.” Okay, she thought. She could deal. He had a hard-on the size of Florida, but he wanted food more. Interesting. Mystifying .
    She shook herself out of her bewilderment and—okay, she’d admit it—disappointment, and used a spatula to scrape scrambled eggs from the skillet into a bowl.
    “There’s toast,” she said.
    “Yum.” He reached around her to snag the slices out of the toaster, taking a second to brush his lips over the side of her neck.
    She froze again, her heart stuttering at the light, random embrace. Good God, was this his idea of foreplay? Because it was working. With a capital F.
    “Coming?” he asked as he pulled out a chair and settled.
    Suppressing a snicker at his deliberate word choice, she joined him at the table.
    “What?” he asked as he sank his teeth into a crisp slice of bacon. “Are you blushing?”
    “No.” Yes.
    Flashing a knowing grin, he helped himself to a heap of scrambled eggs. “So, what was going on yesterday?” he asked. “You weren’t yourself.”
    She hesitated, not sure what to say. “I had a headache” seemed so cliché. And while that wouldn’t be a total lie, it still struck her as dishonest. She really didn’t want to lie to this man. Yet, she couldn’t imagine telling him the truth. So, what, was she going to spend their entire relationship lying to him?
    “Alex?”
    She met his inquisitive gaze and forced a smile as she dug into her breakfast. “Like I said, I had a weird day. It’s over now.” She forked up some eggs, followed them with bacon, willing the off-kilter sensation inside her to click back into place. Everything would be fine.
    “You were sweet to stay the night,” she said.
    “Sweet had nothing to do with it.