Page 42 of Show Off

“About staring at my?—”

“By making me think you hated the chowder.”

At that, he looks genuinely perplexed. “By asking if you wanted the truth?” He shakes his head slowly. “Not all truth is bad.”

“Depends on who’s telling it.” Also, I’ve been beating these eggs for roughly sixteen years. I’m about to stop when he touches my hand.

“Careful.” The gravel in his voice tickles my eardrums. “Keep whisking like that and you’ll make meringue.”

I let go of the fork. “Really?”

“Not really.” He shrugs and makes his chest muscles roll. “That’s what you’d get with only egg whites. But over-whisking eggs can cause the protein molecules to uncurl, exposing the sticky amino acids and?—

“Fine. Here.” I shove the bowl in front of him. “Show me how it’s done.”

He eyes me like this might be a trap. “You’re doing just fine on your own.”

“You just said I wasn’t.”

His mouth quirks again. “I recognize I might be distracting you. I can stop.”

Whirling around, I face him head-on. “Is there a reason you’re not wearing a shirt?”

“I sleep naked.”

There’s a visual my libido didn’t need. “And yet, you’re not standing nude in my parents’ kitchen.” I cock my head and try to look as brave as I sound. “You had the wherewithal to put on pants.”

My voice sounds too breathy onwherewithal, but I think I made my point.

Dal holds my gaze for a heartbeat. Then twelve. “Maybe I wanted you to look at me like you’re doing right now.”

I lick my lips. “How’s that?”

“Like you’d just as soon eat me as the eggs.”

My face flames. “Pretty full of yourself, aren’t you?”

He shrugs and I love how his shoulders ripple. “It’s not ego if it’s true.”

“And not all truth is bad,” I parrot as my heartbeat kicks into overdrive. “I forget where I heard that.”

“Lana.” He steps closer, crowding me with his heat.

“What?” I can’t look at him. Can’t even breathe without launching myself at his chest. “Don’t you want to show me how an internationally renowned chef makes scrambled eggs?”

“No.”

The hunger in his voice makes me look up. His eyes are molten pools, bathed in light sparking off my parents’ crystal chandelier. I lick my lips again and watch his eyes stray to my mouth. “Why not?”

His arm ropes around me, pulling me snug to his chest. “Because that’s not what I’m craving right now.”

My heartbeat thunders as my head starts to spin. “What do you mean?”

Then he’s kissing me, deep and hard and fierce. It’s so sudden, so brutal, that I lose my balance.

Or maybe that’s not true. Maybe my knees buckle because—holy Christ on a cracker—Dal Yang can kiss. This isn’t the same kind of kiss we shared back at my place. He’s hungry and rough and pinning me back to the counter with a strength that unspools me.

He releases my mouth, but he’s not done with me. Not even close. One hand snakes to my robe, yanking the ties so it slips off my shoulders in a waterfall of silk. I gasp as it puddles at my feet and Dal kisses his way down my throat.

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