“Going off the rails here,” she murmured to herself.
Of course she was naturally going to try to talk herself out of getting into anything romantic with him. It was dumb and risky, just as she’d reminded herself.
And of course she was going to do it anyway.
He made her dizzy and sort of sappy and dumb and really horny. She wanted to see what it would be like. To have something with him, to give the zing a chance. She wanted to let herself feel all this really good stuff.
* * *
BY THE TIME he showed up at her door she’d managed to get the eyeliner on both sides into pretty respectable wings and given the goofy look on his face when he checked out her tits, the choice of the snug T-shirt she’d worn over a long-sleeved Henley was a good one.
“Hi.” He smiled at her, all gorgeous teeth framed by his beard. Sometimes she let her cheek brush it when he hugged her. And she wondered what it would feel like against the sensitive skin of her neck. Or the inside of her thighs.
Holding up an armful of packages, he thrust a huge bouquet of flowers at her. “I bring food and flowers in tribute.”
Rachel took them, pausing to breathe in the scent of the pink-tipped cream-toned roses he’d given her.
“Good morning.” She stepped back to let him come inside, taking a surreptitious sniff of him as he passed.
Yum.
She led him into the kitchen, where he began to unpack the haul he’d brought. Trying not to show how giddy she was that he’d brought her such pretty flowers, she made busy with trimming the stems and arranging them in a vase she placed in the center of the kitchen table.
“Thank you for the roses,” she said, shyness in her belly.
He turned, approaching her slowly until he’d backed her to the counter, his body shy of touching hers. “You deserve roses.”
The shyness in her belly turned to butterflies.
“I do?”
He nodded and then, shocked her into total stillness as he dipped and slid his lips over hers. Tasting. Sipping.
He backed up just a little before he got close again, this time sliding his tongue against her lips and into her mouth when she opened on a sigh of pleasure. The heat of him blanketed her, along with his scent, and she had to exercise all her self-control not to rub against him.
One last kiss, this one with a nip of her bottom lip. “I’ve been waiting a long time,” he murmured, gaze searching hers. Looking for fear? Hesitation?
She went up on her tiptoes and kissed him quickly, one last time, chasing that query from his eyes.
“I hope it was worth the wait,” she said, trying to sound saucy.
He smirked. “It was.”
She smiled. “Good. I concur. On the being worth the wait, that is. Coffee?”
“Yes, that’d be great. Omelets okay?” he asked.
Nodding, she poured them both a large mug, leaving his near where he’d begun to assemble the ingredients for their meal.
“You know where the milk and sugar are if you want some.” She indicated the sugar bowl.
“My mother says I’m sweet enough on my own,” he told her.
Snorting, she rolled her eyes and went back to looking at him, enjoying the tingling left after that kiss.
“You do pretty well in that department, I must admit.”
Visibly pleased, he shrugged, not at all bashfully. He was just so damned self-assured. Easy with himself as he moved around her kitchen.
“I’ve decided we should go on a date. First dates can be weird, even when you already know the person. So I propose this to be our first date so when I take you out, it can be the second date and we don’t need to be nervous. Naturally there’ll be flowers because, as I mentioned, you deserve them.” He nodded as he began to assemble things in a fashion her love of order found very sexy. He poked around in the cabinets until he found what he needed and got about his business.
She sat back in her chair, utterly charmed. Damn it, why did he have to be so sexy and funny? So emotionally well adjusted and stuff? The whole of him was utterly irresistible.
It’d been hard enough when he was aiming all that charm at others. But over the last several months he’d turned it on her. Making it clear what his intentions were. Even as he never pressed for more than she was comfortable with she couldn’t deny the chemistry between them.
He’d pushed his sleeves up, exposing ridiculously sexy forearms, and then washed and dried his hands. He stood, giving her his profile, his features exposed because his hair—acres of thick, gorgeous hair, nearly shaved at the sides but long on top—was captured in a ponytail at the back of his head. He usually wore it that way when he worked.
It should have been douchey or bro-something. It was hot. Slightly messy but that was because he’d been up since four working on that upper body she got a little dizzy when she looked directly at. Like the sun.
“When you turn on the taps you go all the way, don’t you, pretty boy?”
“Too much?” he asked, knowing she wasn’t going to agree.
“It’s impressive.”
“Impressive is good.” Cocky, he raised a shoulder slightly.
“That remains to be seen,” she told him, teasing.
His laugh was one she hadn’t heard from him before. Low and lusty. It made all her hormones stand up and cheer.
“I’m very competitive. It means I tend to get very focused when I’m trying to hit something out of the park. Get your rest.”
It was Rachel’s turn to laugh. Flirting with him felt good. And she couldn’t deny the curiosity about just what he’d show her to impress her.
“Do you want ham or turkey?” He pointed at the cutting board with his knife.
“Ham is good. Thanks.”
Silence lived between them for a bit as he cooked, filling the kitchen with some really good scents. It wasn’t uncomfortable. Being with him rarely was.
“Busy morning at the bakery?” she asked.
“Even my mother was pleased with the business today. She’s a hard taskmaster and has very high standards when it comes to what she considers a successful day’s take.”
Rachel laughed. Mrs. Orlov was one of her favorite people. Though small in stature, she was a big presence. Especially within her family. A force to be reckoned with in her community.
She only hoped to one day live as boldly as her own person as Irena did.
As he made the food, she hopped down and began to slice thick pieces of bread to be toasted. Pretty much daily throughout the last several years, she’d eaten bread created in the Orlovs’ ovens. It had given her roots. A sense of place in her new life.
And at least a few more pounds.
“I brought fresh butter,” he told her, indicating a wax paper–wrapped square on the counter.
Fresh bread and butter brought to her by a gorgeous man? She must have done something pretty awesome in a past life.
“I also brought some of the tea I texted you about earlier today. Drink it an hour or so before you want