Page 13

I shake my head and let the shades fall back into place.

I had a good dinner last night, but my stomach growls, and I'm in desperate need of coffee. I bite my lip. Maybe if I sneak downstairs now, at this ungodly hour, I'll be able to help myself to something without running into any of the guys. Unless I want to walk a mile uphill in the spitting, freezing rain, I'll need one of them to drive me back to my grandmother's house. But that's a debate that can wait until after I get some caffeine.

Just in case I do run into anyone, I make myself at least sort of decent, pulling on a pair of yoga pants and a fleece. I poke my head through the door and find no one there, so I risk it.

The house is eerily quiet as I make my way to the kitchen, especially after all the warmth and activity that filled it last night. For a second, I think I've made it through scott free, that I can avoid looking any of them in the eye for a few more hours.

Except then, as I round the corner toward the kitchen, I hear it. Quiet humming and the clink of metal on ceramic.

Oh, no.

Adam is standing there at the counter, a big green bowl tucked in the crook of his arm and a whisk in his hand. He's dressed in a white T-shirt that shows off his toned arms. His reddish hair is damp, presumably from a shower, and unlike the other bearded wonders who live here, he's clean shaven.

And I really, really don't want to face him right now.

I shift my weight, but before I can turn around and go back, a floorboard squeaks beneath my feet, and I wince. Sure enough, Adam snaps his head up. Bracing myself, I try to turn my wince into a smile.

I'm not exactly sure what I'm expecting, if he actually did hear me last night—teasing? Mockery? For him to call me a slutand offer me the chance to suck his cock right there by the island if I really want it so bad.

But there's none of that. He lights up. "Haley. Good morning! I didn't expect to see you up so early."

I'm turned around by his totally normal greeting, but I shake it off. Still wary, I tuck my hair behind my ear and shrug. "Couldn't sleep."

"Sorry. Was it the room—were we too loud?"

Pretty sure I was the one who was too loud. But I shake my head. "No, just—strange place, and a lot on my mind, you know?"

His smile twists, but his frown is soft and sympathetic. "Yeah." He sets down the bowl. "Hold up one second, okay?"

I nod. He gives the bowl one more stir, then sets it aside and covers it with a towel—bread he's allowing to rise, maybe? With that done, he dusts himself off and turns to the cupboard. Two coffee mugs seem to materialize out of thin air. He holds one up in question.

"Yes, please."

He fills it and passes it over, directing me to the cream and sugar while he pours his own. Then he grabs a basket and gestures with his head toward the other end of the room.

I follow him to the back of the house and a four season room. It's chilly as hell, but the bank of floor to ceiling windows lining two walls makes it worth it. He indicates a spot on a sofa that's turned to face the windows, and I sit, clutching my coffee close. I take a sip, and it's like I can actually feel the life-giving caffeine seeping into my bloodstream.

"Here." He tosses one end of a heavy blanket at me. I start to drape it over my lap, but before I can get very far with that, he sits beside me and repositions it, wrapping it over our shoulders. It's big enough that the ends cover our laps. It's warm and cocoon-like, and the best—and worst part—is that sharing it withhim like this means sitting snugged up together. His side presses to mine. Our thighs touch.

And I'm not as desperately horny as I was last night, but he smells delicious. His heat and his leanly muscled frame feel heavenly against me. My head swims to feel him so close. I sway, wanting to lean even further into him, but I manage to keep myself under control. Gripping my coffee mug tighter, I take another sip, holding onto the ceramic as if it were a lifeline.

Adam reaches over to the basket he set down on the table and flips aside the cloth that had been covering it. It's filled with fresh muffins—blueberry, if I'm not mistaken. He grabs one and holds another one out to me to take.

"Thanks." I have to set my coffee down to tear into the muffin, but it's worth it. The thing is still warm. A blueberry pops in my mouth, and my eyes flutter shut. "Mmm. This is really good."

"Glad you like it."

"You made these?"

"Yup. Secret recipe."

"I might have to try to weasel it out of you."

A sly smile twists his lips. "Good luck trying."

I wonder what it would take. If he trades baked goods for sexual favors, for example…

I mentally shake my head at myself and pop another bite into my mouth. "So is that what you do around here? Cook?"