Page 30 of His Wisconsin Wallflower
“Easy, killer.” Quinten’s low drawl smoothed over her nerves. “You’ve already seen me, and I’ve seen... well, plenty.” His smirk sent another blush burning through her as she yanked theblanket higher, propped up her pillow, and scooted against the headboard in one awkward motion.
Only then did she notice the tray balanced in his hands.
Her jaw slackened. “You made breakfast?”
Quinten, clad in nothing but boxers that leftverylittle to the imagination, set the tray on the nightstand and switch on the side lamp. The aroma of bacon and coffee wafted toward her, making her stomach rumble. He plucked a shirt from the floor—his dress shirt from the night before—and handed it to her.
“Here, put this on—you’ll need your hands to eat.” His tone left no room for argument. “While I don’t mind seeing you naked, I want you comfortable enough to eat.”
She slid her arms through the sleeves and fumbled with the buttons. Before she could secure the second, he brushed aside her hands and deftly buttoned the shirt for her. He stopped three buttons shy of the top, grazing his knuckles over the swell of her breasts.
She sucked in air and didn’t miss how the lines beside his eyes crinkled wickedly. Half expecting him to take it further, she braced herself, but he straightened, gave her a soft peck on her lips, and a mumbled, “Good morning, bright-eyes.”
The oversized shirt hung loose on her frame, the fabric soft against her skin. She glanced down—no cleavage showing. Thank goodness.
Quinten retrieved the tray, perched beside her on the bed, and placed it on her lap. The mug of coffee wobbled slightly, and she steadied it with both hands.
Unreal.
This man—her man?—had made her breakfast in bed.
“Eat,” he ordered gently, spearing a fluffy mound of scrambled eggs with a fork and lifting it to her mouth.
She obeyed, the first bite melting on her tongue. Creamy, perfectly seasoned, warm. He followed it with a bite of buttered toast, and she couldn’t hold back a hum of approval.
She had so many thoughts and questions. The most important one—how the hell am I going to make up for the lost time this morning? “What time is it?”
He fed her another forkful before she could protest.
She swallowed and flicked her gaze toward the window.
He grinned, leaning back against the headboard with an air of smug satisfaction. “A little before 5 AM. I figured you’d need an early start.”
Her jaw slackened again. Could this man be any more perfect?
Before she could find the words to express her gratitude, he fed her a piece of bacon and more toast, leaving her to savor the perfect blend of flavors. “Next time,” he murmured, his voice low, “I’ll wake you early so you can make us biscuits.”
Next time?
Her heart gave a small, hopeful flutter as the words sank in.
Chapter Seventeen
Raisa traced her fingers over the spines of books in the romantasy section, a soft hum of satisfaction escaping her lips. The new titles were disappearing faster than she’d anticipated. “Good problem to have,” she murmured, pulling out a notebook to jot down potential reorders. If this pace kept up, she might even need to expand the section. The thought made her smile—Winslow’s Shelf thriving was precisely the kind of distraction she needed today.
But her focus slipped, her pen pausing mid-word.I can’t believe how I spent last night.Heat crept up her neck as she tried to banish the memory of Quinten’s arms around her, the way his breath had tickled her skin, the heady mix of his cologne and something utterly him. How his take-charge attitude had completely shut down her brain, leaving no room for doubts, and letting her be completely in the moment. How the ropes had prevented her from doing, well, anything and how the helplessness had heightened her pleasure.
Her heart fluttered, and her cheeks started to burn.Nope. Not going there. Not in the middle of work.
“Getting all red-faced over there?” Lila’s teasing cut through her thoughts, and Raisa nearly jumped as she slapped shut the notebook.
She turned to face her employee, clutching the notebook a little too tightly.I am not about to tell her about last night—nuh-uh. Not happening.“What? No.” She touched her cheek. “It’s the heat. Isn’t it hot in here?”
Lila leaned on the counter, her grin pure mischief. “No, it’s not, but nice try. What’s got you all flustered?”
Think, Raisa. Think fast.“I think I’m getting into my menopause,” she said with mock seriousness, turning back to the shelf.That’s a good excuse. If I’m the only one feeling hot, might as well blame hot flashes, right?
Lila barked out a laugh, crossing her arms. “Oh, please. You’re way too young for that. These are hormones, all right, but theget down and dirty and make babieshormones.”
