6. Arthur

6

ARTHUR

I tried to stay in bed. Tried and failed. The time spent last evening with Hannah in our house played on repeat throughout the night.

By the time I left my room at daybreak, I’d memorized the sound of her laughter, the way her throat moved when she swallowed. I was obsessed with how her eyes shifted in the light, the subtly changing color drawing me in and begging me to never look away.

Fucking hell I’d turned into one of those poor poetic bastards.

I plunged both hands through my hair, raking it back from my face, and straightened my shirt over my jeans.

The scent of pizza still lingered at the bottom of the stairs. I’d never seen anyone devour so much pizza in one go. Between Hannah and Liddy, we’d almost had to call out and order more. I smiled at the memory of Hannah’s surprise when I showed up with pizza and told her she had the night off to acclimate. Her eyes had gone round, her plump lower lip forming a delicate pout.

The kitchen door swung open beneath my palm, the oiled hinges allowing me to sneak into the bright, white space without a sound. The early morning brought out a need for coffee and food.

Hannah stood in front of the double-door refrigerator, her figure illuminated by the glow from the three hood lights spread out over the island. She opened both doors and peered inside. Her ass wiggled from side to side, her nails drumming a beat on the door handle. A steady thumping came from her phone on the counter, and when I looked closer, I caught a shimmer of white in her ears from her earbuds.

She straightened and turned, one arm loaded down with eggs and bacon. A squeak that almost resembled a cut off scream pierced the quiet. “What are you doing down here?” She clutched the eggs and bacon to her chest, slammed the door, then yanked both earbuds from her ears.

“Morning.” I crossed the kitchen to the coffee machine and tapped the sequence for my favorite mocha. “I often come downstairs early to help Deena with breakfast.”

Her brows arched. “Deena? Oh, your housekeeper.” She took an unsteady step backward and set her ingredients on the counter. “I thought this was part of my job?”

“It is.” I helped myself to my coffee and sank onto the nearest stool. Hooking my heels on the bottom rung, I watched her over the rim of my cup. The kitchen was a creative space like any other. Why shouldn’t I enjoy it? Especially the one in my own home. “But I also like to cook.” I waited a beat, swallowed a mouthful of scalding hot coffee, then set the cup down. “Is that a problem?”

“Um.” Hannah opened and closed cabinets seemingly at random. She fished deep in a cabinet beside the stove and came up holding a sauté pan. “It’s your house. I don’t know what the rules are, but I’m sure telling you no is a firing offense.”

I bit back a laugh. “I’m not quite as dramatic as that.”

“No?” She aimed the pan at me. “You look like you’d rather boil me alive than share the kitchen with me. How am I supposed to cook for you when you’re scowling at me like that?”

I smoothed my face into a passive smile. “Better?”

“No.” Without warning, she came around the counter to stand in front of me. Her blue pajama shorts and tank top set off the blue in her eyes. Her bare face begged to be touched, kissed.

“You’re frowning again.” One finger stretched over the space and ran down the line that always formed between my eyes. It shocked me to my core. Her touch turned my body into a live wire, heightening every sensation. I drew in a slow, steadying breath.

“You do not have to cook for me. I’d like to cook with you.”

Her index finger trailed down the bridge of my nose before falling away. She tucked her hands behind her back. “Fine. I’m making bacon and eggs. What are you making?”

“Pancakes.” I smiled at the shocked look. It was becoming my favorite expression because it took away the weight of worry crimping her brow. “Do you enjoy pancakes?”

“Do whales swim?” Pink colored her cheeks, and she waved both hands in front of her face. “Forget I said that. I’m used to working with preschoolers. My sense of humor isn’t fit for adult conversation.”

“On the contrary. I think it fits right in.” I stood from my seat and walked past her while trying to ignore the way her nipples poked through the thin material of her shirt. I was no saint, but I for damn sure could keep my cock in my pants when it came to women half my age.

It took far too much concentration to find what I needed. Cabinets I’d stocked myself were suddenly unfamiliar. The place where I kept the pancake mix stood empty. I opened and closed the door twice to make sure.

“Are you performing a magic trick?” Hannah appeared at my elbow and held up a box. “If you’re looking for this, I found it over there.”

I followed her pointing finger to a shelf on the right of the sink. “Who the hell put it there?”

“Doesn’t matter. Let’s cook.” She set the box beside the stove. “I get these two burners. You can have the other two.”

“What if that’s my favorite one?” I pointed out the one where she’d set her sauté pan.

“You can’t have a favorite when they all work.” She swatted my hand with a spatula when I reached out to move her pan. “Hands off.”

“How is that fair if you don’t have a favorite?” I threw the words back in her face and pulled my favorite bowl from the cabinet, along with my whisk.

She huffed, the tiny noise of protest causing strange flips in my stomach. “I said you can’t have favorites. I can.”

“That’s not sound logic.”

“No one ever said I had to have sound logic. I work with preschoolers. Fair is fair.” Her voice rose in a sing-song. “You get what you get and you don’t pitch a fit.”

“Bloody horseshit.” I rounded on her, a sudden anger rushing up. “You do pitch a fit. You fight for what you want, what you deserve. You never lay down and roll over because some arsehole thinks they deserve it more than you.” My chest throbbed from the explosion of emotion. I rubbed a hand over my heart.

Hannah’s arms latched around my waist, the hug slamming us together so hard I lost my breath. “Thank you.” Her words muffled against my chest.

Was I supposed to hug her back? The strangeness of the situation proved my lack of emotional foundations. I had no basis for the feelings skating along one after the next. I finally draped my arms around her waist, my fingertips tracing the ridge of her spine. A shuddering breath skipped beneath my fingers, and Hannah drew back.

“Well. We won’t get any cooking done like this.” A bright, half-smile crossed her features.

I headed over to the other counter. I dumped pancake mix, milk, oil, and an egg in the bowl and began to whisk. “Do you think this is thick enough?” I waited until she looked into the bowl to flick the whisk. Gooey liquid splashed against the side of her cheek.

She jerked away, her hand going to her face. It came away sticky, the goop dripping down her wrist. “You asshole. You did that on purpose.”

“Did I?” I set my pan on the burner and added a pat of butter, swirling it around until it reached the proper temperature.

Her hands fisted, a mutinous glare and the jut of her jaw tempting me to splatter her again. This time, it landed on the curve of her neck and trickled into the valley between her breasts. “Oh, yuck.” She fanned her shirt, giving me an excellent view of her bare tits.

God the woman had a rack meant to be fondled. Stop . I was not an animal.

She mopped up the batter with a wad of paper towels, narrowed her eyes, and rubbed it over my neck and cheek. “Payback’s a bitch.”

I burst out laughing. It rocked through me in a wave, the deepness startling as my chest vibrated. “Is that how you want to play it?” I swept her aside and found the flour in the pantry. One hand delved deep into the powder, the other fending her off when she ran at me with the bowl of eggs she’d whipped together.

“Yeah, that’s how I want to play it.” She slopped the eggs toward me, and I grabbed the edge of the bowl, tearing it from her hands.

I dropped it onto the counter and drizzled flour over her head. “There. You’re a perfect flower.”

“I’ll show you a flower.” She yanked the container from my hands and upended it over my chest. A cloud of white rose around us. I lost sight of her in the fray of battle. White dust drifted in the air, floating in every direction. I waved a hand to clear it.

“You’re ready for your eggs now.” Her glee and the scrape of the bowl against the counter raised both my hands.

I caught her around the waist and dragged her backward. A squeal of protest rushed out, ending with an oomph when her ass slammed into my crotch. I fought through the cloud of powder and found her hips, spinning her around and walking her backward until we hit the counter. “That’s not how we play this game.”

“How do you play?” She sounded breathless, excited. Her fingers danced up my arms and hooked into my collar.

My cock rested against her stomach. Her arms at my neck should have felt like a noose. I did not have relationships or one night stands. I avoided most women. But Hannah… damn it all, she turned my thoughts to mush and my body to a volcano ready to erupt. Her breath fluttered over my cheek. The last of the flour dust dissipated, leaving me staring into the ocean of her eyes.

“What are you doing to me?” I locked my palms on the counter, pinning her ass between me and the hard marble.

“Me? You started it.” There it was—the challenge in her eyes and voice. She shifted from a demure, cautious girl to every temptation I should avoid. That dangerous appeal sang to me, a siren song I was powerless to walk away from.

“Yes, I did. Time to finish it.” I slanted my lips over hers, sensations bombarding through me. Her hands fisted in my collar, then released as her arms wound around my neck. I kept my hands on the counter. I knew if I touched her, if I laid a single finger on her body, I would not be able to stop. Already, my resolve was unraveling. Every tiny sound she made in the back of her throat, every scrape of her nails over my scalp, threatened to end me.

Hannah. Her name became a mantra in my head. Her lips parted between mine, and I was helpless to resist the temptation. I tasted her, drank her in as a starving man would fresh water.

Every part of my body that touched hers burned with an unholy fire.

She rubbed her hips from side to side, then rose on her tiptoes to cradle my cock between the apex of her thighs.

I groaned into her mouth and sucked her bottom lip. She melted into me, soft and pliant. Her hands were everywhere. One second, she tangled them in my hair, and the next they dove beneath my shirt and ran over my ribs.

It was only day one.