Bad Engagement (Billionaire's Club #10) - Elise Faber Page 0,27

breath. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

He held up the bag, the coffees. “Bringing you breakfast.” A beat. “Though, I didn’t expect to find you out of bed yet.”

“Oh.”

At the question in her eyes, he added. “You texted pretty late last night.”

This time her cheeks didn’t go pink. Rather, they paled, and her eyes shifted to the side. “Oh, yeah. I-I—” She stammered for a moment then murmured, “I hope I didn’t wake you up.”

“My cell is always on Do Not Disturb at night,” he said. “I learned my lesson after getting way too many calls from the clinic when it wasn’t my turn to be on call.”

“Oh . . . good,” she murmured.

“Is that your favorite word in the mornings?”

Red brows drew together. “What?”

“Oh,” he said, setting the coffees down on the porch railing. “Is it your favorite word in the mornings?”

Those brows stayed drawn. “No.”

“Okay.” He shrugged, sat down on the top step. “So, you couldn’t sleep last night?”

“I—well—”

He pulled out an apple turnover, offered it to her. “Hungry?”

She glanced down at her hands, and he saw they were covered in dirt. Then she bit her lip again. Fuck, but he thought that was sexy as hell, even as he recognized it was because she was unsure.

Shoving the turnover back into the bag, he stood and set it alongside the coffees on the railing. Then he snagged her hand, drew her over to the hose spigot he’d spied on his walk up the house, and rinsed off her hands. The dirt disappeared, and he used the bottom of his shirt to dry her fingers, her palms.

Maybe not the most sanitary, but it had given him an excuse to touch her, to bring her close.

And now they could eat.

“Come on.” He nudged her over to the porch and down onto the front step. Then he grabbed her coffee. “Mocha,” he said and handed it to her.

Her brows lifted. “How’d—?”

“I pay attention.” When those brows stayed lifted, he added, “I’ve seen you express your undying love for them on many an Insta post.”

She smiled, shook her head. “Thank God I keep my profile private for everyone except for sexy vets.”

Mock-glowering, he asked, “How many sexy vets?”

“Hmm.” She tapped a finger to her chin. “That is an excellent question.”

“Okay, questionee”—he plunked the bag of pastries on her lap—“the next question you must answer is which sweet treat do you want?”

Her mouth curved. “I think the question is what sweet treat do you want?”

And Jaime found he couldn’t resist the invitation.

He leaned over and kissed her.

Soft lips parted immediately, and he slipped his tongue inside her mouth, tangled it against hers. She tasted of mint and coffee, making his senses come alive, heat spreading out over his skin. Never had a simple kiss aroused him more, but then again, this woman was more.

She had the potential to be everything.

So, when she set the coffee and the bag aside then wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned back, tried to pull him on top of her, Jaime forced himself to stop.

To gentle the kiss, coaxing her down from the edge, pulling them back millimeter by millimeter until their lips separated. He stayed close, fingers in her ponytail, rapid breaths mixing. “You are so fucking beautiful.”

A sharp inhale, her eyes closing for a heartbeat.

Hope. Fear. Pain. Desire. They swirled in those whiskey-colored depths, and he wanted to magnify the first and last, needed to make the middle two disappear.

He released her hair, had to physically force himself to straighten up, to not kiss that slightly swollen mouth and fill her with so much need and pleasure that she forgot all about the fear of the future, the pain of the past. She would be enveloped in desire, smothered in it, coating every inch as he gave her orgasm after orgasm.

And maybe that was ego talking, but also . . . he didn’t think it was all ego.

They had chemistry, and it was combustible. Dry tinder in the forest, just needing the slightest spark in order to burst into flames.

Need coiled in his gut, fingers clenching, wanting to explore more.

Patience, remember?

Stifling a sigh, he nodded inwardly. That was the plan. Patience and winning her over.

He picked up the bag. “Breakfast.”

Kate clasped a hand to her chest and the sight of her parted lips, breaths coming in rapid inhalations and exhalations had Jaime locking his spine, clenching one hand into such a tight fist that his bones ached.

“Breakfast,” he said again, starting to hand