they have sex with them.”
“Yeah. Lucky bastards.”
Mary stood over the stove thinking of the way Rhage had just looked at her. She couldn't figure out why offering to cook him breakfast was such a big deal, but he'd acted as if she'd given him a tremendous gift.
She flipped the omelet over and headed for the refrigerator. Taking out a plastic container of cut fruit, she spooned all there was into a bowl. It didn't look like enough, so she grabbed a banana and sliced it on top.
As she put the knife down, she touched her lips. There had been nothing sexual about the kiss he'd given her behind the couch; it had been all about gratitude. And the mouth-on-mouth action in the park had been deeper, but the distance on his side was the same. The passion had been one-sided. Hers.
Did vampires even sleep with humans? Maybe that was why he held back, instead of it being some kind of power play.
Except what about the hostess at TGI Friday's? He'd definitely sized that woman up, and not because he'd wanted to buy her a dress. So clearly his kind had no problem being with another species. What he had no interest in was being with her.
Friends. Just friends.
When the omelet was finished and the toast buttered, she rolled a fork up in a napkin, tucked the twist under her elbow, and took the plate and the bowl into the living room. She quickly shut the door behind her and turned to the couch.
Whoa.
Rhage had taken his shirt off and was leaning back against the wall, inspecting his burns. In the glow of candlelight, she got a serious look at his heavy shoulders, his powerful arms, his chest. His stomach. The skin over all that muscle he was carrying was golden, hairless.
Trying to keep it together, she put what she was carrying on the floor next to him and sat down a few feet over. To stop herself from staring at his body, she glanced at his face. He was looking down at the food, not moving, not speaking.
“I wasn't sure what you liked,” she said.
His eyes flipped up to hers and he shifted so he was facing her. The frontal view was even more spectacular than the profile. His shoulders were broad enough to fill the space between the couch and the wall. And the star-shaped scar over his left pectoral was sexy as hell, like some kind of brand on his skin.
After a good beat or two of him just staring at her, she reached for the plate. “I'll get you something else—”
His hand shot out and gripped her wrist. He stroked her skin with his thumb. “I love it.”
“You haven't tasted the—”
“You made it. That's enough.” He picked the fork out of the napkin, the muscles and tendons in his forearm working. “Mary?”
“Hm?”
“I would feed you now.” As he spoke, his stomach let out a howl.
“That's okay. I'll get something for myself… Ah, why are you frowning like that?”
He rubbed his eyebrows, as if ironing out his expression. “Sorry. You couldn't know.”
“Know what?”
“Where I come from, when a male offers to feed a female from his hand, it is a way of showing respect. Respect and… affection.”
“But you're hungry.”
He brought the plate a little closer and tore off a corner of the toast. Then he cut a perfect square out of the omelet and placed it on top.
“Mary, eat from my hand. Take from me.”
He leaned forward, extending his long arm. His teal eyes were hypnotic, calling her, pulling her forward, opening her mouth. As she put her lips around the food she had cooked for him, he growled in approval. And after she swallowed, he came toward her again, another piece of toast suspended between his fingertips.
“Shouldn't you have something?” she said.
“Not until you are full.”
“What if I eat it all?”
“Nothing would please me more than to know you are well fed.”
Friends , she told herself. Just friends.
“Mary, eat for me.” His insistence had her opening her mouth again. His eyes stayed on her lips after she'd closed them.
Jesus . This didn't feel like friends.
As she chewed, Rhage picked through the bowl of fruit with his fingertip. He finally chose a slice of cantaloupe and held it out to her. She took the piece whole, a little juice escaping down the side of her mouth. She reached up with the back of her hand, but he stopped her, lifting the napkin, brushing it over her skin.
“I'm finished.”
“No,