Page 55 of Mr. Dangerous

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Rob

Iwokethe next morning to sunlight streaming in through the open windows to the balcony. I'd forgotten to close the shades last night. Or the doors. Naomi and I had been too busy having rowdy, let's-make-up-for-lost-time sex. On my floor, the bed, against the wall. I rubbed a hand over my face, surprised at how unexpectedly that had all unfolded within the last twenty-four hours. How amazing it had been. Hard to believe that only a few days ago, Naomi had been pointing her angry little finger at me, reminding me of how awful being aDelaneywas.

Now she lay with her back to me, the sensuous curve of her chest and waist in profile making me stir with desire for her again. I wanted to run my fingers over her beautiful olive skin and wake her up for round two. Or round six, depending on how you lookedatit.

Naomi stirred, turning so that her face was in profile. Her dark hair spilled back from her forehead, fanning across the pillow. That face— the high cheekbones, her wide hazel eyes accented by thick eyebrows, the accidentally-pouty cast her lips so often took on—made my heart skipabeat.

God, I was in trouble. This was a fling, a fling; I had to remember that. I was going to be on my way back out of Rhode Island before I knew it. I had to make sure Naomi knew that, too. I thought of my wish-filled words on the deck the day before,what if it wasn’t just twenty-three days, and felt a new stab of guilt. I wouldn’t mind trying for more than twenty-three days with Naomi, but long-distance relationships are hard, a relationship with a SEAL is hard, and a relationship with a Delaney is damn nearimpossible.

"Good morning, beautiful," Imurmured.

"Good morning, you," she said shortly, but a faint smile touchedherlips.

I leaned over and planted a kiss on her cheek. Despite Naomi's hard edges, her skin felt soft as a smooth nectarine. "I thought I'd slip out and get us somebreakfast."

"You know how to frybacon?"

"I am capable of being self-sufficient," I promised her, bounding out of bed. I pulled a t-shirt over my head; Naomi sat up in bed, drawing the sheet up to her chest, as she watched me appreciatively. I offered her a self-deprecating smile. "I just choose nottobe."

"I knew this was all a trap," she said, settling back down inmybed.

"Absolutely." I pulled on my sweatpants and then headed down the hall, down the stairs— god, what a trek every time you wanted a snack, it made my compact San Diego apartment seem like the best deal ever—and into thekitchen.

Where I came face-to-face with my grandmother, who stood at the stove already dressed in madras and a polo. She quirked an eyebrow at me as if she knew what I wasupto.

"Morning," I said. “You're upearly."

"I always wake up early. I'm putting the kettle on for my morning tea. Have you seenNaomi?"

"Mm?No."

"Strange. She's supposed to be here by eight every morning when we'reathome."

"At home,really?"

"You don't still consider this your home? Not a bit?" She sniffed. "I told your father he should sell the place, but he can be such a romantic when it comes toyouboys."

"Sure," I said, because I didn't feel like arguing that one today. She always had a very different take on Mitch than I had. I opened the fridge, pulling out a glass container of strawberries and another of cherries. I opened the sleek metal bread box, but it was empty. "Do we have any pastries left over fromyesterday?"

"You're not going to keep those chiseled abs of yours if you eat pastries," she said, nodding towards a box on the end of thecounter.

"The occasional croissant is not my enemy.” In a hurry to get out of the kitchen, I threw the box on top of thefruit.

"Who's the girl?" she asked slyly. "Do Iknowher?"

"Don't worry about it," I said. "It's notserious."

"Well, Rob, you arethirty."

"Nextyear."

"I know you don't want to hear about how you should settle down while your latest conquest waits for a cannoli, but you really should thinkaboutit."

"I don't need love advice." I threw it over my shoulder as I headed for thedoorway.

"Oh, youdefinitelydo.”

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