DAPHNE HAD JUST drifted off again when the scent of coffee grew stronger, as if the pot had grown legs and walked over to tempt her out of sleep. She was having a rather heated internal debate on whether or not she should lift her head to investigate this turn of events when someone nudged her shoulder. She didn’t move and that someone did it again.
“Poke me one more time,” she warned Oakes, eyes still squeezed shut, her face hidden in her folded arms, “and I will kill you. Slowly. And with great relish.”
An idle threat, really, and one that didn’t have much of a punch due to her being unwilling to lift her head from where it rested, quite comfortably, thank you very much. It didn’t help that her tongue wasn’t currently working—her words came out as a cross between a slur and a groan.
Plus, why kill him before he’d had the chance to see how awesome, adorable and amazing she was? He was the man she loved, after all.
At least, she was pretty sure he was.
She opened her eyes and peeked under her arm at him. Her heart sighed, one long, happy sigh. He wore the same faded jeans as last night and an Astros T-shirt, the soft material hugging his broad shoulders. He had a body on him, a surprisingly hard and muscular one, despite the fact that he sat on his rear for a living. His jaw was sharp, his nose straight and she knew that when he smiled, he had even, white teeth and a charm about him that went right to her gut. Dark hair and green eyes completed what was, all in all, one very pretty picture.
But she hadn’t fallen for him because of his good looks. Or, at least, not only because of them. Yes, he was handsome—all the Bartasavich brothers were gorgeous, including her own brother, Zach. No, what set Oakes apart was his kindness. His warmth and generosity.
Her brain still foggy, her mouth feeling as if it had been filled with cotton, Daphne lifted her head. Realized she’d drooled in her sleep. Wonderful. She wiped the side of her mouth, making the move as casual as possible. How the heck was she going to convince him she was his soul mate after drooling on his sofa?
“You are alive,” he said, the right side of his mouth lifted in a grin. “I’d wondered.”
“Alive and well,” she assured him, though her voice sounded rusty. She brushed her hair out of her eyes and tossed back the blanket, which she assumed he’d covered her with last night, before swinging her legs around, her bare feet connecting with the cool wood floor.
His gaze dropped and his mouth tightened before he jerked up his eyes to stare at a spot somewhere in the vicinity of the ceiling. She followed his gaze but there was nothing to see except white ceiling so she glanced down. Oops. Her dress had shifted and twisted and ridden up during her sleep. She hadn’t flashed him everything God had given her, but it was pretty darn close.
Lifting her hips, she tugged down the material, making sure all was covered and right with the world. When she looked back at Oakes, her breath caught at the intensity in his gaze. The interest.
The attraction.
He blinked and it was gone, just...poof, and his expression smoothed out as if it had never been. She could relate. For years she’d gone back and forth over whether to embrace her feelings for him or pretend they didn’t exist. But she knew, whatever choices they made didn’t matter. They could fight the inevitable, could pretend there was nothing between them, but if they were meant to be—and her instincts were telling her they were—then they’d end up together. Eventually.
Still, it wouldn’t hurt for her to give fate a bit of a nudge.
He held out his hand. Now, she was completely capable of standing on her own—she’d been doing so since she was a baby, after all—but she wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity to touch Oakes, to test him, just a bit. Placing her hand in his, she let him tug her to her feet, making sure her breasts subtly brushed the hard planes of his chest as she did so.
He would have backed up, she knew, but he was trapped between her body and the coffee table, her fingers still curled around his. She rubbed her thumb over the back of his hand and slowly lifted her head, her hair brushing his chin. He went completely still except for the working of his throat as he swallowed.
“Thank you,” she said, sounding like a breathy sex kitten.
Hey, if that’s what it took to get him to stop pretending he wasn’t attracted to her, she could go that route, complete with pointy ears, whiskers and tight catsuit.
Meow.
Their eyes met. Anticipation filled her, grew to an almost painful point, when his gaze dropped to linger on her mouth. He leaned forward. Her heart hammered. Her lips parted. Oh, God, this was it. The moment she’d been waiting for. He was going to kiss her. Well, that would certainly put an end to the whole I-see-you-only-as-a-platonic-nonsexual-friend act he pulled whenever they were together.
It wasn’t quite the romantic scenario she’d fantasized about when she was seventeen and in the throes of a huge, heartbreaking crush on him. And maybe having him get this close to her when she undoubtedly had morning breath wasn’t such a great idea, but if the man was finally going to kiss her after she’d waited six long years, she sure wasn’t about to deny him simply because they weren’t on a moonlit beach and she needed a mint.
She let her eyes drift shut.
Only to have them pop open when he gave her hand a friendly squeeze and slid free of her grasp. “No problem,” he said, his voice gruff.
Then, as if to make sure her humiliation was complete, as if to drive home the fact that he found her harmless and cute, like a child, he patted her head.
The man literally patted her on the top of her head.
She didn’t know whether to cry or punch him in the throat.
She settled on nipping the coffee cup from his hand as he raised it for a drink. Took a cautious sip before he’d even had time to blink or lower his arm back to his side.
“Ah, the nectar of the gods. And the only good thing about waking up in the morning.”
“Please,” he said, his tone all sorts of dry. “Help yourself.”
Feeling a bit better, she sent him a cheeky grin and drank again, deeper this time now that she knew it wasn’t blistering hot. Served him right after he’d gotten her hopes up only to cruelly dash them.
She gulped down some more, praying the caffeine kicked in quickly. The coffee could use a hefty dose of both cream and sugar but beggars couldn’t be choosers—and she was well used to playing the part of beggar. “I don’t suppose you’re hiding a bagel on your person?”
“Excuse me?” he asked, his expression bemused.
“A bagel,” she repeated slowly. Maybe he needed the coffee as much as she did. She handed the mug back to him. “Or a muffin? At this point I’d even take a scone.” When he just stared at her as if she’d lost her ever-loving mind, she wrinkled her nose. “No, huh? Too bad. I’m starving.”
“How about we start you off with some dry toast? See how that goes.”
She made a face. “How about you slather some peanut butter on that toast and we’ll have a deal.” She eyed the coffee cup he still hadn’t bothered drinking from. “If you’re not going to finish that...”
He handed it back to her.
She wished it was that easy to get everything she wanted from him.
She headed toward his kitchen, crossed to the large fridge and opened it. Grabbed the half-and-half and poured a hefty amount into the cup.
“Sugar?” she asked. She’d been to his house before, of course. Plenty of times, the most recent being over the Fourth of July weekend when he’d thrown an impromptu