Then gone.
He smelled bacon frying.
The moment he did, he rolled, threw back the covers, angled out of bed and prowled out of the room, down the hall, through the arch and toward the kitchen where he took five steps then stopped dead.
Because Faye Goodknight was standing at his stove at the island.
Faye Goodknight.
In his house.
In his kitchen.
At his stove.
All this the morning after she gave him her virginity and spent the night in his arms in his bed.
She was wearing the shirt he wore yesterday. It was unbuttoned and only partially covered the sexy as all f**k sapphire blue silk nightie that had thick lace at the top and, he’d seen last night but couldn’t see now, another rim of thick lace at the hem as well as deep slits up each side. A nightie the likes of which he figured no virgin would wear. The likes his ex-virgin was definitely currently wearing.
Her head was turned slightly to the side to take a sip from one of his coffee mugs.
But her eyes slid to him and she didn’t take a sip.
She lowered the mug to the counter by the stove and snapped, “You spoiled the surprise.”
“What?” he whispered, unable to make his voice louder but she still heard him because she answered.
“I’m making you breakfast in bed.” Her eyes moved the length of him then came back to his. “Or I was.”
Her words and her tone jerked him out of his stupor and he kept prowling toward her.
Her pretty, makeup-less face lost its mock annoyance and she stared at his advance, her body turning toward him as he rounded the island. She looked like a doe caught in headlights, just as terrified, just as frozen and just as cute.
She forced out a, “Chace –” but that’s as far as she got before he hooked her at the waist with an arm and yanked her into his body. He drove his other hand in her hair, cupped her head, tilted it to one side, slanted his then he took her mouth.
When he did, he took his time.
He didn’t break the kiss until he’d had his fill.
Or his fill for now.
When he lifted his lips from hers, he opened his eyes to see hers follow suit far more slowly. She did this often. Chace liked it. It made her look like she was waking from a really good dream.
He slid his hand down to curl it around the back of her neck and he whispered, “Mornin’, baby.”
She blinked and he watched her lick her lips, his gut clenching a good way this time, a f**king good one and she breathed, “That sounds a lot better in real life.”
Chace grinned.
“Not that it isn’t good on the phone,” she hastened to add.
Chace’s grin turned into a smile.
“Or that the phone isn’t real life,” she continued.
Chace just kept smiling.
“Just that it’s better in person,” she finished.