blink. No Desmond beside me, but then I make out a sound from the kitchen and smile. My senses are coming to life at the smell of breakfast cooking and the sizzle of grease on the stove. I pull myself out of bed and walk to the window, where a white button-down of Desmond’s lies. I pick it up and slide my arms through the sleeves, leaving it unbuttoned. I have zero energy to find my own clothes right now.
There’s a bench under the window, and I take a seat, pulling my knees up to my chest as I gaze out the window. Desmond’s view faces the main street, and just by the activity on the street as people make their way to the public market, I take a guess that it’s early afternoon.
“Hungry?”
I snap my head toward Desmond’s bedroom door.
He’s standing there with a loaded tray of food. “I might have gone a bit overboard.”
My mouth starts to water. “Is that French toast? And avocado toast?”
He nods and starts to walk toward me. “And bacon and eggs Benedict and fruit. I didn’t know if you liked hollandaise, so I just put it on the side.”
The closer he gets, the wider my eyes grow. Strawberries and whipped cream top the French toast, and a cup of syrup sits beside them. There’s even a tiny mint leaf sticking from the dollop of whipped cream and a small bowl of berries on the side. “That all looks incredible, and I’m starving.”
He chuckles and sets the tray between us as he sits down on the bench. His eyes scroll my attire with a quirk of his lips. “I’m sure you are.”
I grin and pick up a fork. “Your girlfriends must feel pretty lucky when they wake up in the morning.”
He cocks an eyebrow at me and twists his lips. “Is that your subtle way of asking if I do this for every woman I sleep with?”
I stifle a laugh and hold a forkful of avocado toast to my lips. “Maybe I’m a little curious.”
“Well,” he says while cutting through layers of egg and ham. “The short answer is no, not to this extent.” He still isn’t looking at me as he takes a bite, chews, and swallows.
“As in…” I lead, hoping he’ll elaborate more.
He sets his fork down and smiles. “Food is my thing, Maggie. I’d be lying if I made you think I haven’t used it to my advantage once or twice before. But have I ever given up sleep before to make a buffet of food to make sure a woman was pleased with the options?” He chuckles again. “No. This would be a first. And have I ever wanted a woman to stay after said breakfast was cooked? Not until today.”
My lips are parted to eat the blueberry I have pressed to my mouth when heat spreads from my neck to my cheeks. “You want me to stay?”
He slides off the bench, suddenly adopting a serious look as his gaze finds my mouth. “Hold that thought for one minute.”
I pop the berry into my mouth as he jogs out of the room, wearing nothing but pair of bright-green boxer briefs. I don’t think too much about his exit until he returns with his camera in his hands. “Do that again.” He stops at my side and angles the lens down on me.
I pull the shirt over my breasts and look up into the lens, at him, with wide eyes. Panic sets in. “What are you doing?”
He sets the camera to his side and cups my chin with his fingers. “You don’t have to be afraid of the lens, Maggie, not with me.” His lips tilt up in an almost shy smile. “May I please take your picture?”
My heart takes off, beating wildly in my chest to an unfamiliar rhythm. Something about Desmond’s request makes me feel every bit as bare as I was for him last night. Exposed. Vulnerable. But looking back at him with his ice-cold eyes so devilishly innocent, I don’t think I can say no.
So I pick up another berry and place it to my lips, and before I know it, there’s a click and a flash, followed by another and another. I’m eating my breakfast, bite by bite, while Desmond captures his food and me from every angle. And for the first time since leaving the world of modeling, I don’t feel like a puppet. I don’t feel like someone’s doll to be poked and prodded