I threw on a pair of boxers and a T-shirt, and followed the sounds and smells until I reached the kitchen and froze in the entryway.
Blair stood in front of the stove, dressed in one of my T-shirts, the hem barely covering the curve of her ass, exposing a whole lot of leg. Her hair spilled down her back, my fingers itching to stroke it.
Most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.
She turned, and then I revised my assessment.
Blair beamed at me, spatula in hand, her face free of makeup, a delicious, rumpled mess.
That was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.
“Good morning.”
The happiness in her eyes echoed in her voice, teasing an answering smile from my lips.
“Morning.”
She turned back to the stove. “I’m making pancakes and bacon,” she called over her shoulder. “The coffee should be ready. How do you take it?”
My gaze drifted to the countertop where two coffee mugs sat by my Keurig. A knot tightened in my chest. It was so like her to have coffee waiting. To take care of me in a way no one ever had before. She took care of everyone around her as though it was effortless.
And just like that, I knew—
I loved her.
I came up behind Blair and wrapped my arms around her waist, pulling her into the curve of my hips. I lifted her hair, baring her neck, burying my face there, my mouth pressing a line of kisses on her skin.
“Thank you,” I whispered, my voice thick.
She turned in my arms, her eyes wide, lips parted, and linked her hands behind my neck, pulling my head down toward her.
“It’s just breakfast,” she whispered.
“It’s not just breakfast.”
She closed the distance between us, putting her mouth on mine.
If I’d had any question about how much things had changed between us after last night, her kiss answered it. There had been an intensity to our kisses before, as though we both knew we were doing something we shouldn’t be. Now when she kissed me, she gave me sweetness, her mouth coaxing mine to open, her lips and tongue caressing me. It was a lazy morning kind of kiss that had me wrapping my arms around her tighter, tugging her toward me, my hands dipping under the T-shirt’s hem until I cupped her ass in my hands.
She broke away first, giving me a playful swat with the spatula still in her hand.
“The bacon will burn.”
I grinned. “Worth it.”
She shook her head. “I’m making you breakfast.” Her lips twitched. “Then maybe you can have dessert.”
Blair
I felt like I’d overdosed on happy pills. I couldn’t keep the smile off of my face, was a few steps away from humming a freaking song.
I’d woken up this morning to the sight of Gray’s muscled chest, his face in sleep softer than I’d ever imagined it could be. There had been a moment when I’d thought about waking him up early, but after last night . . . holy multiple orgasms . . . I figured he could use his rest. And then I’d walked downstairs in search of coffee and had the idea to cook breakfast for him.
I loved to cook, and now that my days weren’t dominated by hundreds of pages of reading, or stressing about finals, I couldn’t resist the urge to indulge. Given the rather untamed look he had about him, I figured Gray hadn’t had a lot of domesticity in his life.
Luckily, Martha Stewart was my middle name.
His kitchen was awesome. By the look of things, he didn’t use it a lot, as in ever, but what he had was pretty spectacular. I might have had another mini-orgasm at the sight of his stove.
My apartment was nice, and I’d rented it right when I started law school, but it was small and nowhere near as fancy as his place. Cooking on my little stovetop was hit or miss, and thanks to an unevenly heating oven, baking was even worse. I’d have to see if Gray would let me commandeer his oven for Christmas cookies.
I’d set the table and then started cooking, relishing the feeling that the noose around my neck had been temporarily lifted with the end of fall classes. I might have had only a month’s reprieve, but I was definitely going to make the most of it.
And then Gray came downstairs, and held me in his arms, and what was already feeling like a fantastic day became infinitely better.
So I kissed him, giving him my happiness with my mouth, giving him everything I had.
When he released me, he had a slightly dazed look on his face, as if I’d surprised him once again, much like I had last night.
I really liked surprising Graydon Canter.
I turned back from the food, smiling at him leaning against the counter, a cup of coffee in his hand, his gaze locked on the sight of me cooking. In a suit, he was devastating. In boxers and a T-shirt, his eyes heavy with sleep, he was practically edible.
I’d never seen the boyish side of him, doubted many people had, and I couldn’t resist. I wrapped my arms around his waist, pressing a kiss to his cheek.
“Breakfast is ready. Why don’t you sit down at the table, and I’ll serve it.”
He blinked.
“Gray . . .”
“I feel like I’m going to wake up and discover you’re a figment of my imagination,” he murmured, his hand reaching out and stroking my hair. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you; I’m not even sure I do deserve you. Fuck, I probably don’t. But I can’t let you go. I don’t want to, and even more, I’m starting to think you wouldn’t even let me if I could walk away.”
God. Sleepy, sweet Gray was almost too much to resist. My heart, the one he held in his hands even if he didn’t realize it yet, thudded with each word that left his mouth. His heated gaze warmed me from the inside out, filling me with a glow he’d given me several times last night.
And he thought he was the lucky one . . .
I kissed him again, and then pulled away, nudging him with my hip. “Go sit down.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he teased.
I swatted his ass with a dishtowel. We were definitely going to go for round four later.
I carried the food into the dining room. Gray stood behind one of the chairs, staring at the table.
“What’s wrong?”
He looked up at me. “You did all this while I slept?”
I nodded.
“The flowers?”
“I picked them from the courtyard.”
“You picked flowers. From my courtyard?”
I nodded again.
I’d basically been taught to set a table and entertain from birth. My mother wasn’t big on cooking, but she loved hosting dinners and parties, and she’d expected me to know how to do the same. Maybe it was a weird skill for a twenty-three-year-old to have, but my upbringing hadn’t exactly been normal.
I stared at the pretty purple flowers on the table in a makeshift vase. They brightened things up, and Gray definitely needed a little bright in his life.
“Sit. The food’s going to get cold.”
He sat at the head of the table, me on his right, and took a bite of his pancakes. He finished chewing and gave me another heartbreaking smile.
“Best pancakes I’ve ever had.”
“I’m glad. I love to cook. I haven’t been able to do it as much as I’d like.” I hesitated. “Speaking of. How would you feel about me using your oven to bake some Christmas cookies?”
That same surprised look came on his face—like he held the winning lotto ticket in his hand and didn’t know what to do with it.
And then I knew.
I was definitely, undeniably in love with Graydon Canter. And even though I doubted he was ready to admit it, the look in his eyes said it—he was more than a little in love with me, too.
I fought back against the tears pushing at my eyes, and tried not to freak him out.
“Are your cookies as good as your pancakes?” he asked.
“Better.”
“Bake away.”
I grinned. “And if I’d said they weren’t better?”
“Do you really envision a future where I’m not going to give you everything you want?”