Hot Westmoreland Nights - Brenda Jackson [34]
The muscles in his neck tightened at the very thought and he forced out his response. “Morning.”
She sniffed the air. “Great, you’ve made coffee!”
He watched as she quickly headed toward the coffeepot. Today she was wearing another cute short dress with a pair of leggings underneath. He frowned. Did she have a pair of those things for every day of the week? And a different color for every day?
He took a sip of his coffee and watched as she poured hers, adding cream and sugar into the mix before leaning against the counter and taking what looked like a much-needed sip.
“Excellent,” she said.
“Thanks.” Was she smiling? And if she was, then what the heck for? Could a cup of coffee first thing in the morning do that to her? As far as he could recall she’d been barely speaking to him when they’d parted yesterday afternoon. And why did knowing he’d contributed to putting that smile on her face send a good feeling vibrating through him? Damn.
He gazed back down at his newspaper. To be honest, he was hoping that he would have been in and out of the kitchen this morning before she’d gotten up. He was determined more so than ever to put distance between them. Maybe then he’d be able to get a good night’s sleep.
“I’m doing omelets this morning. Would you like to go ahead and place your order?”
He glanced over at her. She was opening cabinets pulling out bowls, pots and pans. Had she said omelets? The last time he’d eaten an omelet was when he’d gone on a business trip and stayed at a hotel. It had been delicious.
“Yes, please,” he said, trying to keep the excitement out of his voice. “I’d like that.”
“How would you like it?”
He fought back the urge not to say the first thing that came into his mind, which would have given away his lusty thoughts. Hell, it was too early to think about that kind of stuff. But then, early morning sex wasn’t so bad. And he had a feeling she would be able to cook in the bedroom with just as much heat as she used in the kitchen.
It took him only a few minutes to fill her in on the ingredients he wanted in his omelet. She nodded and went right to work. He watched her as she added the onions, green peppers, tomatoes…
Ramsey’s mouth began watering. For both the omelet and for her. Moving around the kitchen, she was a sight to see. And he felt the lower part of his body getting there. The huge bulge behind his zipper wasn’t a joke.
“What about a glass of orange juice?”
He blinked, realized he’d been staring. “Thanks. That will work.”
At the moment he couldn’t think of many things that wouldn’t work, especially if she were to place her hands on it. Shivers went through him when he thought of places she could place her hands…on him.
She crossed the room and placed the plate on the table, right in front of him, and a glass of OJ beside his plate. “Thanks.”
She smiled. “No problem.”
He began eating while thinking it might not be a problem for her, but it was definitely becoming one for him. He didn’t look up when she refilled his cup of coffee. “Thanks.”
“Sure.”
He took his time to savor the meal which deserved all the savoring it could get. The omelet was simply delicious. He liked glancing up every once in a while to watch as she fried bacon and cooked sausage. In no time at all the smell of breakfast was all over his kitchen.
And he noted she had come out of her shoes. She had kicked them in a corner and was gliding around the kitchen in her bare feet. He smiled as he glanced down at her toes again and felt his breathing come out slow and easy.
They hadn’t said a word over the past thirty minutes. He was satisfied in letting her do her thing, and evidently she had no problem in letting him eat in peace while he finished reading the newspaper.
With the newspaper read and his plate clean, he decided