Page 38 of Alone With You
“Is that all?”
“But right now I could eat a horse.”
Jenny noticed the grumble in her own stomach, too. She frowned and thought of the empty refrigerator. “I think there’s some whipped cream in the fridge—“
“Save that for later.” He nipped the inside of her wrist. “I need more sustenance than whip cream.”
“I guess man cannot live on love alone, huh?”
The minute the words left her lips she wanted to suck them right back into her mouth. She saw the word register in his thoughts as internally she scolded herself up, down, and sideways. What the hell was she thinking, rattling this fabulous communion between them? Hot sex was agoodthing, for both of them. It was the perfect solution to being stuck in a cabin with a hot guy for ten more days. Both of them got to enjoy themselves, and then leave before any discussion of commitment could come up. For the first time in her life, she liked easy banter, shared laughter, the lack of any serious conversation.
“My bad,” she said, sitting up. “When I’m wine-addled, or sex-addled, I lose control over my tongue.”
He slid to his side and ran a finger across her lower lip. “I like when you lose control.”
She grinned, grateful that he hadn’t withdrawn after her gaffe, pleased that she hadn’t blundered into destroying this new comfort and ease between them.
“Pancakes,” he said, his taut abdomen collapsing into folds as he sat straight up. “I’m in the mood for breakfast.”
She glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand. “It’s eight o’clock at night.”
“We had burgers for breakfast and didn’t eat lunch. We might as well have pancakes for dinner.” He swung his legs over the edge of the bed. “I know a great pancake house, it’s a bit of a ride, but it’s open all night. Twenty-four hour breakfasts. Scrambled eggs, bacon, sausages, thick waffles—“
“Waffles?” she said, imagining the fragrant squares dripping with maple syrup. “As in, Belgian waffles with dollops of cream?”
“You got it, Red.”
“Oh…my.”
“Hey,” he said, coming around the bed to put his face right up to hers, “that expression is reserved for me.”
A bubble of a laugh floated its way to her throat. “We’ll see, after the waffles.”
An hour later, Jenny lifted a fork full of waffle dripping with syrup. The waffle melted in her mouth, and the taste of fresh maple syrup and rich cream exploded on her tongue. As she chewed, she gazed at Logan over her fork and concluded without question that sex with Logan Macallister was a hundred thousand times better than waffles.
He knew, too, for his mouth twitched in a way that made her think of being braced up against a hard wooden door. She glanced around the nearly empty pancake house, as if they could see her thoughts, and then enjoyed another bite of dripping waffle.
“Jenny.” Logan’s green eyes sharpened. “Stop that.”
“What?” she asked around her fork.
“Eating like that.” His gaze slipped to her mouth. “You did the same thing last night with pizza. Pulled everything off the fork with your lips. It drove me to distraction.”
Jenny speared her fork into another piece, swirling it slow, around and around, in the maple syrup. “Are you objecting to the way I eat?”
“The way you eat should be banned.”
She hefted a dripping forkful, waving it like a tease.
“You pull your mouth back so deliberately.”
She suppressed a giggle as she did as he described with extreme slowness, tugging a small piece of waffle off the tines.
“And all the while,” he continued, lowering his voice, “you look up at me with those smoky-brandy eyes, making promises.”
“Are you suggesting,” she said, as she swallowed anew, “that I’m not eating properly, Dr. Macallister?”
“It’s obscene. It should be banned.”
