Page 30 of Tamed Wolf

There’s a soft, girly giggle from the doorway, and I nearly trip over my own feet trying to turn my head fast enough to catch her.

“You two are adorable. He’s really making you work for it, huh?”

She steps into the kitchen, face all warm, no trace of the awful treatment she suffered last night, and it makes me wonder how many times she’s had to cover something like that up with a sunny disposition.

“How’d you sleep?”

She sighs dreamily. “I forgot how great mattresses could feel. I slept like a log.” She’s bending down now and smiling at Rowan, telling him hi and trying to get him to smile, and I’m…a puddle of goo.

“He’s darling. How old is he?”

Rowan just stares up at her, but when she starts playing peek a boo, he gives her one of his radiant smiles, and I watch her fall for him. “Six months.”

“Aww, such a big boy, aren’t you? Oh yes, you look just like your daddies.”

She straightens and eyes the coffeepot hopefully, so I grab a mug and fill it for her, grabbing the sweet creamer I can’t live without from the fridge and offering it up.

“Thanks.”

I nod and let her find a spot to lean against the counter and get somewhat comfortable, crossing her feet at the ankle as she cradles the mug.

“You look good in my kitchen.”

Her eyes fly open all the way.

“Shit. Sorry, I have a filtering problem. Here, why don’t you take a seat, and I’ll get some breakfast going for us more discerning adults?”

She snorts a little into her mug, but is still smiling, so I call it a win. “You’re a morning person, aren’t you?”

I grab a carton of eggs out of the fridge along with some milk and cheese and set them on the counter while I grab a frying pan from the dish rack. “It is the best time of the day, so of course I am.”

“What do you think, Rowan? He’s awfully cheerful for this early, don’t you think? It’s suspicious.”

“No, no, no. You don’t get to make him gang up on me.” I walk over and pretend to nibble on his fat little fingers. “You’re on daddy’s side, aren’t ya?”

She doesn’t say anything else as I start cooking, but it’s a somewhat comfortable silence.

When I slide her omelet onto a plate, she blinks down at it in confusion. “This is for me? You didn’t have to go through all that trouble. You guys have done enough already, you don’t have to feed me. Save your resources; I don’t usually eat breakfast.”

I lean over the counter, trying to figure her out. She’s…unlike anyone I’ve ever met. I don’t know how to read her or what experiences have shaped her, but it’s seeming more and more likely they weren’t too great.

Without thinking too much about it, I grab the fork I laid neatly next to her plate, cut off a good bite sized piece, and pretend it’s an airplane.

She opens her mouth in shock, and I land right on her tongue, waiting for her fucking perfect lips to close over the fork before pulling it out of her mouth. Fuck. Is it weird that made me like 30% hard?

She chews and clears her voice. “You did not just do that.”

“Hm, pretty sure I did. Do I need to do it again? Or are you going to eat it all by yourself?”

“Wow, okay, going there. Fine. This is excellent, and I’m not going to be rude and turn down your incredible hospitality. Thank you.”

I watch her eat in fascination, completely forgetting about the omelet I was supposed to flip several minutes ago, that’s now very fragrantly burning in the pan. “Fuck!”

I run over and grab the pan, flip the eggs and consider trying to salvage it for about three seconds, before deciding that there’s no way that’s going to taste good at all and throw it away. I hate wasting food, but apparently, I can’t multitask with such a beautiful woman in my kitchen.

“You think someone’s going to be able to bring me to a bus stop in a little bit?”

Footsteps behind her produce a very sleep-addled Blake, who brushes a barely-there kiss to her shoulder before pressing into the kitchen and scooping up the baby, propping him on against his chest with one arm while he makes himself a coffee.

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