Page 417 of One More Kiss

I arch a brow and smile. “With the mug or that I actually own a piece like that?”

She grins. “Both.”

The coffee maker beeps, signaling it’s finished brewing. She pours herself a cup, reaches for the creamer in the fridge, and sits down at the breakfast bar. I follow suit, filling my own mug and then sit down on the stool across from her.

We study each other as she blows carefully in her mug, and before either of us speak up, Wilma makes herself known and rubs up against Vada’s dangling legs.

“Oh, hello,” she coos in a soft, sweet voice. “And who are you?” Wilma reaches up and paws at her, begging for attention as usual.

“That’s Wilma,” I tell her. She brings the mug to her lips and takes a small sip as I continue. “She’s the only pussy allowed in my bed, so don’t get any ideas.”

Before I can react, hot coffee spews from her mouth and lands on my bare chest and face.

“Oh my God!” She covers her mouth and laughs. “Why would you say something like that?”

“Wasn’t it obvious? To get your hot saliva all over me.”

She tilts her head and narrows her eyes. “Do you ever stop?”

I purse my lips as if I’m truly contemplating her question. “Nah. I live for reactions like yours.”

“For some reason, I don’t doubt that for one second.” She scowls, reaching for the paper towels on the counter and handing them to me.

“Aren’t you going to at least clean me up? I mean, it was your fault and all.”

Rolling her eyes, she takes the roll out of my hand and smacks me in the head with it. “Actually, you brought that on all by yourself. So nice try, Casanova.”

After cleaning up the coffee mess, I sit back and watch as she pours herself another cup. “So what’s with this term of endearment, Casanova? Does that mean you want to be seduced and bedded or you actually think I’m that kind of guy?”

“Seduced and bedded?” She laughs, walking back to the stool with her mug of hot coffee. I eye it, making sure she doesn’t spontaneously trip and dump the entire thing on me.

“You sound like you’ve been reading historical romance or something.”

“Not since I was fifteen and stealing the novels off my grandmother’s bookshelf.”

“You read romance novels when you were a teenager?”

“Only in hopes it came with pictures,” I shamelessly admit, mocking the way she’s throwing jabs at me. “That was before online porn, so I had to do what I had to do.” I shrug, and she bursts out in laughter. I like the sound—a lot, actually. Although she’s a bit uptight, I enjoy watching her laugh. The wrinkles in her face, the freckles that move along her cheeks, and the sweet sound that releases from her throat. It’s adorable.

Once she controls her laughter, she straightens her posture and purses her lips. “And for the record, it’s not a term of endearment.”

I’m quick to press my palm flat against my chest, showing defeat. “Why must you break my heart?”

Her head falls back with laughter, louder than before and I can tell it’s genuine. She’s warming up to me even if she pretends she doesn’t like me.

“As much as I’m enjoying this little early morning chat with you, I have to get back to my laptop and start writing. Otherwise, this entire trip will be a bust, and I’ll never be able to write again.”

“You just got here, so don’t put too much pressure on yourself.”

“Says the person who doesn’t write.” She rolls her eyes as she stands up and takes the mug with her. “There’s no such thing as too much pressure. It’s a part of the lifestyle. You’re either writing, or you’re not writing. There’s no in-between.”

“Fair enough.” I shrug.

“Thanks again for the coffee.” She holds up the mug in a peace-offering salute. “I’ll be sure to bring it back in one piece.”

“That’s not even funny,” I say seriously, pointing a finger at her. “I saw the way you stumbled to the guesthouse last night, so I’m not sure how trustworthy your word is.”

She gasps, and her jaw drops in mock laughter. “I was nearly killed by a swarm of bugs while you just stood there and laughed!”

“I didn’t laugh,” I defend. “But it was pretty funny considering you were in the middle of scolding me.”

She sighs and rolls her eyes, giving up the fight. Although we’d just met, I can actually read her quite well. She’s snarky and quick-witted, just like me, except she knows when to give up. Me—not so much.

She opens the door, and just before stepping out, looks over her shoulder and smirks. “Have a good day, Casanova.”

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