Page 75 of Duty and Desire
“Your body, your choice.”
“Do you think I’ll lose customers?”Do you think I’ll loth cuthtomerth?
Christ, she was too much.
He really should not have beaten the shit out of his dad.
“No.”
“That’s what I think.” She turned back to the stove and fussed with the mushrooms.
“You want me to make you coffee?” he offered to have something to do that was not looking at her ass, her legs, her hair, her neck, her tits or herat all.
“Yeah. By the time it’s done, strips will be about ready to come off. Splash of cream.”
He moved to where he’d seen she kept all the stuff for coffee.
It was done brewing and he was sliding her mug on the counter by the stove next to her when he made mistake number five in his job protecting Charlotte McAlister.
“You don’t need the strips, the goo or the tits, Lottie,” he told her.
There was more to that message, he just didn’t verbalize it.
She was beautiful and would be beautiful without all that shit.
She got the rest of his message and he knew it when her head slowly turned, tipped back (and then back some more) and she stared into his eyes looking shocked AF.
“You gotta know that,” he continued.
And she did. For shit’s sake, her living was her looks and her body.
“Maybe,” she said in a sweet voice that played all kinds of havoc with his crotch. “But it’s nice to hear it.”
“Just sayin’,” he muttered, moving away from her again.
She turned to face him. “You want toast?”
If she was going to ask him to make it, and it meant getting close to her again, the answer to that was a big, fatno.
“No.”
“Good. Bread is bad,” she declared and shifted her attention back to the stove.
If she thought that, did she even have any?
He’d learned therefore he didn’t open his mouth to ask.
Mushrooms done, she got rid of her whitening strips right there in the kitchen before she started on the omelets, all this while the fresh potato hash browns from a bag were sizzling in olive oil next to turkey sausage.
Mo was a doer so he couldn’t stand still for long.
This meant he got out the plates and cutlery, opening and closing doors and drawers to find it, and brought them to her.
She served up and he took his plate and fork all the way (which wasn’t a long way, and that sucked) across to the opposite counter from her.
Lottie put the sole of her foot against the ankle of her other leg and tucked in at the counter.
Mo did the same, without the foot action.
