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I brush my teeth using the toothbrush I brought with me from the New House. I forgot to take out my contacts last night, and my eyes burn a little. Idiot move, but really, how could I not have fallen asleep with Cash wrapped around me, the rain making music on the tin roof?

I creep back out to the bedroom and dig a clean white T-shirt out of the dresser by the door.

It smells like Cash. I pull it over my head and then spend a minute or two hunting for my underwear. I remember Cash putting it in the back pocket of his jeans, but I can’t find them in the semi-darkness. Luckily, his shirt covers my butt, so I tiptoe out of the room, closing the door carefully behind me.

Because Cash is a real human being,of coursehe has realfood in his fridge. Kinda surprising, considering he has Patsy to cook for him all week. I find eggs, cheese, and a jar of salsa, along with half-and-half and butter. I get the coffeepot going first, and then I find a pan and get to work on some spicy omelets.

I watch the sky brighten the window above the sink, filling the cabin with soft amber light. The coffeepot gurgles, making the room smell delicious. I open the front door and keep it open when I find a screened door in front of it, allowing that lovely breeze in.

Melting far too much butter in a battered cast iron pan, I wonder if I’ve ever been happier or if I’m just basking in some kind of post-sex glow. I’m tired, and there’s a twinge between my legs anytime I move. A reminder of how…thorough Cash was.

I blush when I think about him touching me there after we had sex. What he did was obscene. A little weird.

And so fucking hot, I’m squeezing my thighs together thinking about it. I’ve never been with someone who…marked me like that, I guess. Are all cowboys so wildly possessive? Or is it just Cash?

Is it Cash, but only when he’s with me?

My stomach flips along with the omelet I turn over in the pan. This man is turning me inside out. He’s turning me into someone I never thought I was. Or maybe I’ve always been this woman; she’s just been buried underneath old resentments and untrue stories she’s made up to bury her own hurt.

The chatter and chirp of birds drift through the screen door. I’m sliding the first omelet onto a plate when a voice sounds behind me.

“Nice shirt.”

Glancing over my shoulder, my heart stutters, then stops altogether.

Cash is standing at the threshold, holding on to one of the wooden beams that span the length of the kitchen’s low ceiling.He’s wearing a pair of brown Carhartt sweats and nothing else. His scruff is especially thick, and his hair is tucked behind his ears.

With his arms extended above his head like this, the sides of his torso bulge outward, making him lookhuge.

Also, how did I not appreciate how lush his chest hair was last night? And that thick, unapologetically furry happy trail—it’s like a dark arrow that leads my eyes exactly where they shouldn’t be.

I can see the outline of his cock through his sweats. He’s not hard, but he’s thick enough that I can see it as he drops his arms and saunters across the kitchen.

His eyes are piercingly blue in the early morning light.

“He-hey,” I sputter. “Thanks. Thank you?”

His lips twitch as he wraps his arms around my waist and melts his front to my back. I nearly pass out from pleasure when he presses a scruffy kiss to my nape.

“Whatcha makin’?” His accent is thicker in the morning. And his voice—the deep, sleepy rumble of it—makes my nipples hard.

“Eggs. What else?”

His mouth moves up my neck, heat blooming to life between my legs. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to.” My breath catches when he nips at my jaw. “I also wanted to bring it to you in bed.”

His hand is on the outside of my leg now, moving up. “I wanted to do something else in bed first.”

“How are you not starving?”

“I am. For you.” He rocks his hips, and that’s when I feel his growing erection press into my backside.That was quick.“Turn off the burner.”

“But the omelet?—”

“Can be reheated.” He hisses when he discovers I’m not wearing underwear, his hand on my hip. “Fuck, honey.”

“You stole them, remember? My panties?”