Page 13 of Echoes in the Storm
Damn it.
“Morning.” I offer a wan smile as I lunge right to wet the dishcloth under the tap.
Duke stands on the opposite side of the breakfast bar, shirtless. I completely miss the stream of water.Pretty sure if I’d been greeted with a full frontal I’d would have forgotten what it is I’m supposed to be doing.
His torso is cut, as in, ripped to all hell. Does this man ever consume fats in his diet?Holy shit.
“I spilled the coffee,” I verbally vomit.
“I see that.” His lazy one-sided grin returns as he lifts his previously concealed hand from behind the counter and reveals a T-shirt, which he then tugs on.
Thank Christ.Not sure my sex-starved libido could have handled much more of that first thing in the morning.
“How do you like it?”Far out, Cammie.May as well ask him if he likes to be on top.
His deep brown eyes zero in on my face as I’m sure I turn all shades of red. “Splash of milk, no sugar.”
“I took a chance that you were a coffee kind of guy.” I wring the cloth out, having successfully found the water, and then drop to my knees to wipe the floor.
It’s only when I hear him clear his throat and catch him turn away in my periphery, that I realise what being on all fours does to my pyjama top.Kill me now. I slam a hand to my chest to push the loose fabric back over my bare breasts, and rock back on my heels to finish the cleaning job in a moredemureposition.
“Toast?” I squeak out on broken tones.
“That’d be lovely.” He rounds the end of the counter and picks up where I left off with the coffees. “You take sugar?”
“One, thanks.”
“Sweet enough,” Duke mutters as he heads for the fridge to retrieve the milk.
My entire body feels as though it’s engulfed in flames as I rinse the cloth out under the cold water. I wring it and set it aside, then dip my wrists under the cool jet for good measure before I switch the tap off. I mean, shit, I knew the guy was cute when I laid eyes on him last night, but nine hours of sleep has attuned my senses somewhat. Last night’s eight on the roadside has rocketed to a definite ten.Or maybe that was the naked torso?Whatever it was, it doesn’t change the fact a smoking-hot guy is casually making me coffee as though he does this every single morning.
“Elixir of the gods,” he announces as he hands me my mug.
I take it with a smile, cradling the hot cup as he pops the lids back on the coffee and sugar canisters, and thenpushes them to the back of the counter.
“That’s not where they go.”
He cocks an eyebrow as he glances over his shoulder at me. “Really? Where would you put them?”
I set my coffee down and then open the pantry door, pointing to my neat little spot at shoulder height where they line up on the shelf.
“But they’re easier to get to on the bench top.”
I give him the same look he graced me with, cocking my eyebrow. “But it looks cluttered.”
“So?” He frowns.
We stand a moment, squaring off over something as ridiculous as wheremycoffee and sugar should sit. Clearly sensing he won’t win this one, the muppet takes his coffee through to the living room, muttering to himself as he leaves.
On the bench top.Pfft. Is the guy crazy? Clean lines. I need clean and clutter-free lines in my house.
Myhouse.
Not that it really is. I groan as I reach for my mug, mentally cataloguing the real estate agents I’ve looked into so far. Where do I even start when it comes to picking somebody who’s going to ensure the best price and not just push for the sale to close out one more deal?
Toast.Right.
“What do you normally have on your toast, Duke?” I call out as I retrieve my toaster from where it’s neatly tucked in the cupboard beside the pantry.Suppose he’s going to say he leaves that on the counter, too.