Chapter 8

8

D ull grey light poured in through the kitchen windows. Nathan was bent over the stove poking at the sizzling bacon. The comforting blend of strong coffee and a full Scottish breakfast usually eased him into the weekend.

Not today.

He heard her before he saw her. Soft footsteps, a delicate yawn. His shoulders tightened as he tried to keep his attention on the task at hand.

Don’t turn around. Just act normal.

‘Morning,’ Gennie mumbled behind him. Her voice was hoarse with sleep. ‘Smells good.’

He grunted in response because didn’t trust himself to form actual words.

‘Ah, so you’re a morning person.’ Her tone was light and sarcastic. As if this domestic scene was the most natural thing in the world and not a minefield waiting to detonate his tightly leashed control.

She was here because he’d fucked up the wiring, because he’d brought her here. He should try to play nice. Or nicer. And not behave like a socially crippled recluse.

’Mornin’. Sleep well?’

‘Very well. It’s a lovely room.’

He should have slept perfectly fine too, the sanctuary of his own bed to himself. Except that intrusive thought of her round arse had been right there, tormenting him in his dreams. Had been a long time since he’d woken up to a hard piece of wood greeting him.

He sensed her moving around behind him, no doubt looking sleep-rumpled and far too tempting. He pictured her tousled hair, the inky strands mussed around her face.

Leave it, man. She’s your guest.

Totally off-limits out of simple courtesy, never mind the inappropriate age gap. And the fact that she was a stranger. Nathan grabbed some eggs from the fridge and cracked them into a bowl. The shells crumpled in his fist.

Then she was there, suddenly beside him, peering over his shoulder. Her warm breath feathered across his neck. ‘Let me help you with breakfast.’

‘Absolutely not,’ he said. ‘You’re a guest.’

‘Dude, I’ve been making my own breakfast since I was six.’

Her tone was casual, but that statement startled him. Didn’t sound right. ‘Why’s that?’

She averted her gaze. ‘Had to grow up fast, that’s all. No big sob story here, mister.’

Nathan stopped stirring for a beat. He looked at her, really looked at her, and saw not just the strong woman, but a girl who had learned to fend for herself too soon. ‘Then I reckon it’s high time someone made you some bloody breakfast. And you’re not six anymore.’ He paused, the weighty question on his tongue. ‘How old are you, anyway?’

‘Me? I’m twenty-five.’ Her answer came with a slight shrug, a confident smile, and a glint of challenge in her eyes.

His body’s response was a stiffening of his posture as he turned back to the stove. He couldn’t say her age was a surprise. But if it wasn’t already crystal clear, nothing was ever going to happen. Except in his head.

And in his boxers.

She tilted her head. ‘What about you?’

‘Too old,’ he grumbled.

‘Oh, don’t be such a diva, Nathan. Spill it. Age ain’t nothing but a number.’

He cracked another egg. A piece of shell fell into the bowl and he fished it out with a grunt. ’Thirty-seven.’

‘That’s still young, you know.’

Not young enough for you, baby.

He busied himself with the toast so he wouldn’t have to look at her. Wouldn’t have to see those big hazel eyes still soft with sleep, those bee-stung lips parted in that devastating smile. But his gaze kept drifting back to her like a compass needle.

‘I think it’s hot when a man can cook.’ Her eyes lingered on him a fraction longer than necessary. ‘But you didn’t have to go to all that trouble. I’m more than happy to wolf down toast or cereal.’

‘No trouble,’ he spit out.

Lies. Having her so close was nothing but trouble. She was teasing him in her pyjamas, skimpy shorts and a tight t-shirt. Her perky, round tits were taunting him, jiggling with each movement.

No. Fucking. Bra.

The outline of her nipples peeked through the fabric, calling for his mouth. Nathan almost let out an angry growl. He was only mad at himself, though. She should wear whatever the hell she was comfortable in. He was the problem, not Gennie. His thoughts were the issue, not her clothes or her body.

Fuck. He had to get a grip on this attraction before it incinerated his common sense. No matter how tempting the flames, he couldn’t let himself catch fire.

He grabbed a whisk and began beating the eggs with ferocity. The metal clanged against the sides of the bowl.

Sir Hubert leapt onto the counter with the grace of a much younger cat and landed near the bowl of eggs. Nathan shot him a look, but the cat just blinked slowly, completely unperturbed. Gently, he put the greedy wee chancer back on the kitchen floor.

Nathan turned to the pan again and nearly collided with Gennie as she reached past him to grab a mug from the cupboard. The brief brush of her body against his sparked an acute sensation that plucked at his neural pathways.

‘Sorry,’ she said with a quick smile that did nothing to slow the wild bucking of his heart. ‘Just need my morning coffee.’

‘Sure.’ Came out a little harsher than intended.

Why was it such a challenge to have a woman, another adult, in his space? The whole thing was so hard to navigate. He didn’t know what to say or how to act. Pissed with himself, he tipped the eggs into the pan and stepped aside, putting some distance between them.

As Gennie poured the steaming liquid into her mug, his gaze was riveted, unable to peel away from the line of her neck, the way her hair fell to her waist. So long, like coffee-coloured silk.

She raised the mug to her lips. Her eyes fluttered shut and she let out a little hum of pleasure that shot straight to his groin. Did she have to make these bloody noises? It conjured up images he had no business entertaining.

He forced himself to fixate on their breakfast and slid the eggs onto two plates, adding generous strips of bacon and slices of toast.

‘Let’s eat.’ He carried the food to the oak table and set one down on the opposite side before taking his own seat.

Say something, man.

‘Enjoy.’

She sat down, picked up her fork, and took a bite. She closed her eyes as she chewed, and a soft moan of appreciation escaped her throat.

Christ, the fucking sounds she made.

‘I am enjoying it. This is so good.’ She put another fork into her mouth and then let it glide out painfully slowly, holding his gaze.

Was she flirting with him, or was he reading into it? Impossible for him to tell. He’d been out of practice too long.

‘Seriously. This is incredible,’ she said. ‘You should open a restaurant.’

A corner of his mouth ticked up. ‘I’ll stick to distilling gin, thanks. Less chance of giving people food poisoning if I mess it up.’

‘Somehow, I doubt that’s a real risk. Besides, don’t people go blind from moonshine all the time?’

He squinted against the single, slanting ray of sunlight in the kitchen. ‘I don’t make moonshine.’

‘Wait… Did I see a tiny smile on your face? Aww! Looks good on you.’

‘Don’t get used to it.’

Gennie fixed him with her gaze. ‘But what if I’d like to, Nathan?’

Tingling warmth spread from his stomach to his limbs in slow pulses.

What if he’d like to, too?