“You’re welcome.” He turned away, treating her to a view of his back. His amazingly wide and sexy back. The man was incredibly built without the bulkiness of a weight lifter. All his muscles had to come from physical labor of some kind.
That just made him even more appealing.
“I hope you don’t mind,” he continued. “But I made breakfast.” He stuck his head back around the divide. “I’ll replace the groceries as soon as the stores open.” He gave her a sheepish grin. “I was hungry.”
It was the grin that did it. Not a wholehearted smile. Just a tiny curve of the lips, but it was enough to have her almost melting at his feet.
The man was lethal to her senses.
“Why don’t you sit down,” he continued, “so I can serve you?”
She could think of a hundred other ways he could serve her, and none of them had to do with food.
Down girl. She made her way to the small table and sat, giving herself a perfect view. And not at the landscape beyond the window. No, she was much more interested in what was inside.
Not the least bit chilled anymore, she unzipped her hoodie. With a dishtowel slung over one shoulder, Alexei finished scrambling eggs.
No one had ever cooked a meal for her. She didn’t include eating out. She’d paid for those. But this—her traitorous heart skipped a beat—was different. He was cooking for her, just because.
Because he’s hungry.
Maybe so, but logic was taking a backseat to emotion at this particular moment.
He turned, pan in hand, and poured the eggs into a large bowl. “I would have gone out for breakfast, but I wanted to do something to thank you for letting me crash here last night.”
Okay, it was official. This guy wasn’t for real. He couldn’t be. “You’re a serial killer, right?”
Unable to believe she’d blurted something so stupid, she was tempted to bang her head against the table. Control was her strong point, what she was known for. Being around Alexei was turning her into a blithering idiot.
In her defense, she was used to knowing these things. It had been her job to be aware of every death. On the flipside, she also recognized the murderers. Having to figure this stuff out on her own wasn’t easy and gave her a new appreciation of what people dealt with on a daily basis.
Was it her imagination or did those big shoulders slump slightly?
He gently placed the pan in the sink, walked to the living room, and pulled on his T-shirt.
“I’m sorry.” She jumped out of her chair. “I’m so sorry. It’s just that—” How could she explain this? “No one has ever made breakfast for me before.”
He slowly turned and faced her. “I’ve never made breakfast for anyone before.”
Wow, now she felt extra special, and twice as bad. “I really didn’t mean to call you a serial killer. It’s just that you seem too good to be true.”
He flinched slightly and raked his fingers through his thick head of hair. The arms of his shirt strained around his biceps. She was sorry he’d put it on and had no one to blame but herself.
“I’m not perfect,” he told her in a quiet voice. He was so still it was almost unnerving.
“Neither am I.” She reached out and touched his arm. “Obviously. Now why don’t we enjoy this wonderful breakfast you’ve made?”
“You’re sure?” That he would ask made her caution thaw the tiniest bit. And what a liar she was. She didn’t seem to have any caution around Alexei.
“I’m sure.” She went back to the table, took her seat, and gave him a look of expectation.
The grunt he gave was indecipherable, but he went back to the kitchen, picked up the bowl, and brought it to the table.
…
He’d almost blown it. Of course she’d be suspicious of a guy who stayed the night and then took over her kitchen and cooked her food. He’d already established she was friendly but kept people at arm’s length. Just allowing him to sleep on her couch—she didn’t know he’d slept on the floor—was a huge deal.
She was probably hoping he’d be gone by the time she woke up. Maybe he should have left, allowed her to wake up in privacy, but he hadn’t been ready to let go.
He’d told himself it was for work. There was so much more he needed to know about her. But he also hadn’t been ready for the evening to end.
A sleepless night spent on the floor, not even in the same room with Cassie, was one of the best of his life. What that said about him, he wasn’t sure. Maybe it was a testament to how much she drew him in.
Maybe she was a siren. Not that he was sure they even existed. He’d heard rumors, but no one he knew had ever actually seen one. And if they were real, they would probably congregate nearer warmer waters. Not as many men to lure to their deaths around here.
And it was all nothing but speculation.
They were mostly silent as they devoured breakfast. He’d found bacon and ham and eggs and bread and had used it all. He wasn’t kidding when he’d said he was hungry. As soon as he left here, he was going to hit up a couple of restaurants for their breakfast specials. Until then, this filled a hole.
“So what are your plans for today?” It was the first time she’d spoken since asking him to stay.
“I’ll probably wander around town. See what there is to see.” There had to be something he could do to pass the time. He could always go back to the place he was currently staying and sleep.
Unlike most vamps, Alexei could be up and about during the day, thanks to his shifter side. But he wasn’t at his strongest or his best and tended to nap a lot.
Cassie picked up her mug and drank the last of her coffee. “You said you’re traveling, but what do you do for a living?”
Without her asking, he retrieved the pot and poured them both another round before settling back at the table again. This was a question he was frequently asked when he was out in the world so he was ready with an answer.
“I buy and sell real estate.”
She paused in the act of adding sugar to her mug. “Real estate?”
He shrugged. “People always need places to live.” That had always been true. And he’d picked up land over a hundred or more years ago for a song that was now worth a fortune. Rather than sell, he’d developed apartments, malls, and subdivisions all over the world. Or at least his company had.
That was the problem with living for so long—he couldn’t be as hands-on as he’d prefer. But he managed. The people who worked for him thought him the great-grandson of the founder. Or was it great-great-grandson? He’d lost track.