Page 9 of Uxpectedly Ever After

"You touched my spices?" My voice goes up about three octaves with each word. "That's a direct violation of rule number eight!"

"Don't touch Clover's organizational systems unless you want to die," he recites, turning to face me with two steaming mugs of coffee that look almost small in his large hands. Hands I have never oncefantasized about having on my body. "But I kinda took that more as a suggestion than an actual hard-and-fast rule."

I narrow my eyes at him, trying very, very hard to maintain eye contact with his greenish brown eyes that are more brown than green this morning, and not let my gaze drift southward to his chest. Or his abs. Or that damn V line that points directly to the promised land in his low-slung sweatpants. Or, you know, the very obvious outline of what's residing in those sweatpants. "I don't seem to recall adding an asterisk to that rule that said 'unless Banks thinks he knows better'."

He holds out a mug and it’s my favorite one. It’s got a gold rim andsorry for what I said before I had my coffeewritten in big, bold letters. Is that supposed to be some commentary on my pre-caffeine crankiness?Asshole."Peace offering?"

My traitorous hands reach for the mug before my brain can even register what's happening. Our fingers brush during the exchange, and this wave of tingles shoots straight up my arm.

Seriously? Tingles? I’ve been doing the Olympics of social distancing all week just to avoid this kind of accidental contact, but Banks seems determined to invade my personal space every chance he gets.

"Thanks," I manage, taking a big gulp of the coffee to hide the flush on my face and can only hope he doesn’t notice what my nipples are doing right now. I close my eyes and moan because this coffee is perfect—strong, with just the right amount of cream and a hint of cinnamon. Exactly how I like it. My eyes snap open and focus on Banks as he shifts behind the counter. "How the hell did you know how I take my coffee?"

He just shrugs, the movement causing his muscles to ripple under his skin. I could watch it all day. Just sit here sipping an endless supply of perfectly made coffee and enjoy the show. Wait, no.Bad, Clover."I pay attention, Freckles."

Now what the hell doesthatmean? Something warm sparkles to life inside of me at his words. I immediately stomp on it. "Well, stop. And you better put every single spice back exactly where it was. Now."

"You'll thank me when you're trying to make some complicated curry next week and don't have to dig through a million bottles to find your garam masala."

"I hate Indian food."

He just grins, completely unrepentant, and takes a deliberate step closer, invading my already compromised personal space. "We'll see about that, Freckles. You’ve never tasted mine."

Was that flirty? It’s not just me, right? It totally was.

I take another sip of my delicious coffee, trying to ignore the way my body is reacting to his mere presence. We’re not even going to talk about what he just said. "Don't you own a shirt? Maybe I should add another rule to the list."

His grin widens, and his eyes do this slow, entirely too hot sweep down my body, lingering for a beat or two on my sleep shorts and tank top. I cross my arms to try to hide my nipples. "Nah, you won’t do that. Know how I know?”

I shake my head.

“Your nipples are practically waving hello."

"They are so not—"Okay, they definitely are.Crap. I really hoped he wouldn’t notice. I clamp my mouth shut, my cheeks burning. He's absolutely right, but I'd rather swallow a bottle of hot sauce than admit it. “It’s cold in here,” I snap.

His grin just turns even cockier while I glower at him. Is it possible to glower up at someone taller than you? I’m giving it my best shot. “Sure it is.”

"Shut up. Go cover up… all of that." I gesture vaguely at his torso, which is basically a walking, talking anatomy lesson in muscle with ink drawing little maps to all the best parts.

"All of what?" He takes another step closer, crowding me against the counter like he’s been doing all damn week. When we pass each other in the hallway. Reaching right past me for the remote so his arm brushes mine. Leaning over me to grab a glass from the highest cabinet when there were perfectly good glasses drying on the counter.

"You're not cute, Priestly."

"And yet you can't stop staring."

"I have to go shower." I sidestep him, clutching my coffee mug like it’ll protect me from doing something incredibly stupid. Like reaching out and touching him.

Or jumping his bones. Bone. Whatever.

He smirks. “Because it’s so cold in here?”

"Stop looking at my nipples, you perv!"

He completely ignores me. "I fixed your leaky faucet in the bathroom, by the way," he calls after me as I try to make my escape. "The washer was shot. And your showerhead was practically fossilized with mineral buildup. I soaked it in vinegar overnight, so you should actually have decent water pressure now."

I freeze mid-escape, turning slowly to face him. "You… fixed my shower?"

"Yep." He takes a casual sip of his coffee, like he didn’t just blow my mind. No one’s ever done something like this for me before. Not even my damn landlord and it’s his job. "I noticed it was dripping, and the pressure sucked."

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