Meet Cute (Love, Camera, Action #5) - Elise Faber Page 0,39
sure she made it through okay. I hadn’t needed to worry, however, as members of the security team magically appeared, pushing back the crowd and helping Maggie navigate her car out. I kept watching until they were back inside the gate, until that metal panel was closed, and then I double-checked the front door was locked and the blinds were drawn before heading toward the back of the house where Tammy and I were doing our secluding.
I wished I’d moved already.
I hated that there was a line of sight from the gate to the front of the house, had hated it since the moment I’d bought this place.
This wasn’t the first time that I’d had paparazzi outside.
It was just the first time they’d stayed after getting a couple of shots.
“Tal?”
I glanced up, realized I’d stopped in the middle of the hall.
Tammy had swapped my sweats for a pair of black leggings, but I was unreasonably thrilled that she’d decided to keep wearing my T-shirt.
“What’s up, Hazel Eyes?”
Her mouth twitched. “I’m hungry. Is it okay if I make us something to eat?”
Us. Not herself.
My heart thudded, and if it weren’t such a cliché response, I’d say that my stomach was filled with butterflies. How else to describe that fluttering, swirling feeling?
Fingers on my jaw. “You okay?”
I covered her hand. “Anything in this house—including me—is at your disposal. You don’t have to ask before you use something or raid the pantry for snacks.”
“You say that now,” she murmured. “But this is before I start raiding your underwear drawer.”
My head jerked. “Um, why would you raid my underwear drawer?”
A shrug, her hand sliding away. “Because boxer briefs are the most comfortable things to sleep in ever.”
I lifted a brow, even though she couldn’t see it, as she’d already turned for the kitchen. “How do you know I wear boxer briefs?”
She paused, glanced back at me over her shoulder. “Don’t you?”
That was beside the point.
A smile. “I’m right.” She spun back and disappeared inside the kitchen. I followed her, saw that she’d gone straight for the fridge. My eyes flicked to the window beyond the sink—it was the only one that faced the front of the property—made sure the blinds I’d closed the night before were still shut.
The French doors facing toward the patio were open, and since the sun had begun to set, the early evening sky was darkening, swathes of deep purple and rust and cobalt drifting across the horizon.
Beautiful.
But it still didn’t hold a candle to the woman who’d just pulled out a stack of food from the fridge and was organizing it just so on the counter.
“How many people are you feeding over there?”
“One,” she said, grinning mischievously over at me.
“What happened to us?”
“Two,” she amended. “If the other part of our duo can rustle up a couple of beers?”
I moved around the island, standing very close to her back, inhaling until the floral spice of her filled my nose, settled like a second membrane around my cells. “And what if I can’t?”
A smile over her shoulder. “I’m open to bribes.”
“How very mercenary of you.”
“You know what they say about the police,” she quipped, finishing lining up the ingredients and bending to open the drawer beneath the cooktop. Since I didn’t back up, I had the great benefit of feeling her ass brush against me.
No, not me.
Against my cock, which instantly hardened. Once had definitely not been enough.
Her eyes met mine over her shoulder.
Short of seeing her naked, it might have been the sexiest thing I’d ever seen, those hazel eyes hooded, the pupils dilated. “You have chef fantasies?”
“I have you fantasies.” My hands dropped to her hips. “And I don’t know what they say about other officers, but I’m just kidding. You’re the furthest thing from mercenary there is.”
A flicker across her eyes, and she straightened.
“What?”
“Do you like chicken?” she asked, setting the pan on the burner. Then she laughed. “Of course, you like it. It was in your fridge.” She side-stepped, causing my hands to drop, as she began opening and closing cabinets. “Where do you keep cutting boards in this joint?”
“Tammy.”
“Ah,” she said, opening one more and then pulling out a plastic surface to cut on. “There they are. This is just what I needed.” Another smile over her shoulder, though this one was so fake that it almost hurt to look at. “You ready for my world-famous, or well, my inside-my-own-house famous chicken parmesan? It’s delicious.”
I stepped closer, dropped one hand on either side of her,