Page 25 of Nothing to No One

“Stop looking at him like that,” Roman barked, thrusting a finger her way. “You’re my fucking girl.”

“Okay,” she said and pushed her chair away from the table. “I’m going to bed.”

“It’s not even nine thirty.”

And maybe that made a difference in their world, not in hers. “I was raised not to humor the humorless. It’s been a long day.” She stood up. “I have work in the morning. Goodnight.”

TEN

COFFEE. That had to be a staple in every person’s home, didn’t it? It was the great economic leveler. Yeah, okay, so the cost of java could vary, but at its core, it offered everyone the same relief.

And that was something she needed, hence her creeping down the stairs, seeking the kitchen. She’d caught a glimpse of it from the dining room the previous night. Now was a chance to explore. Not out of nosiness, no, she needed to find the caffeine.

Just entering was enough to blow the air from her lungs. The huge kitchen island on its own was possibly bigger than her whole kitchen back home. It didn’t feel right to open and close cabinets, but there was no one around. She didn’t need help, she could—what the hell kind of coffee machine was that? Oh, God, if she broke it—how much did something like that cost?

“Good morning.” Whirling around to witness Struan close a door behind him, she intended to speak, but… The sweats, straining tee-shirt, the damp hair… Her mouth opened, but no words came out. “Have you eaten?”

Did it look like she’d eaten? The only thing that passed her lips was air. It dried her tongue and burned her throat with a desperation to whine in submission. Only as he came closer did she force words out.

“You shouldn’t sneak up on people.”

His quick smile flashed a dimple. “Did I sneak?”

“Yeah, well I didn’t know you were going to creep in from—why are you up so early?”

“What time is it?” He stopped next to her, folding his arms, propping a hip on the counter. “It’s after six.”

Like that was a reasonable time for anyone to be awake and active.

“Is that your bedroom?” she asked, unable to break eye contact as she gestured with her chin. “Why does it lead off the kitchen? That’s weird. No one ever told you that was weird?”

He laughed. “It’s not my bedroom, the fitness suite is downstairs.”

“Oh.”

“You want a smoothie?”

“A smoothie?” Suspicion lit the question. He turned to open the fridge. “A green one?”

Another laugh and he glanced back. They were too close, so she boosted herself away from the counter to go stand on this side of the island a few feet away.

“You want it green, I’ll make it green.”

“I don’t want green. LA is all superfoods, celery and kale, how do you live here?” As he gathered things from the fridge, her admiration may have just maybe slid down to his ass. Shit, the man was hot. “You probably enjoy it.”

“Enjoy it?”

“With a physique like that…”

He came to dump various wares from the fridge onto the counter.

“What’s wrong with my physique?”

“Absolutely nothing.” Licking her lower lip, she dragged it back and forth over her teeth as he spread out cardboard and Tupperware. “No, nothing at all… Which you know fine well.”

“You objectifying me?” God, he was right. It was as wrong of her to do it as it was for any man to do it to a woman. Backing up a step, she started to turn. He caught her wrist. “Didn’t say you should stop.”

Something in the way their eyes danced lit a fire between them. Not even in her or him, them together, the fiery bubble of desire sealed them inside its smokey solitude.

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