Page 8 of Erotic Temptations 2

“You all right there?” he teased.

“Just overwhelmed by your culinary prowess.”

The food was so good it almost hurt. Every bite of egg was creamy, rich, and somehow perfect—not rubbery, not runny, just… right. Toast crunched, bacon snapped. Each time I lookedup, Ryan was already watching me, eyes a startling blue even in the gloomy morning light.

We ate, and it was…comfortable. Almost too comfortable. He kept nudging the sugar jar in my direction like I needed it or maybe he just wanted an excuse to occupy my personal space. I could live with that.

Conversation breezed over the usual territory. His job, my job, a few mentions of high school idiots now selling insurance or running for town council. Any time my hand got close to his, Ryan’s fingers brushed mine “accidentally.” Right, sure.

“You know, you still have that look,” he said, twisting his mug in his hands.

I glanced up, fork half raised. “Which look?”

“That one where you’re pretending like you don’t care but you really do.”

Words failed me. Instead, I shrugged, because that’s what awkward people did. “Is it that obvious?”

He nudged my boot with his under the table, light at first then firmer. “Always was to me.”

Swallowed hard, not just because I’d almost inhaled an egg. “You always read people or just me?”

“Just you.” He didn’t look away, even once.

If there was a medal for Most Scalding Awkward Silence, I’d just won gold.

He finished his bacon and pointed at the empty plates. “You’re not getting out of kitchen duty. You eat, you clean.”

I stood fast enough to knock my chair back. “Trying to get me to break something?”

He laughed. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

I gathered plates, careful not to touch anything that could be described as “delicate.” My coordination was running about a C minus at this point.

Ryan rolled up his sleeves and stood beside me at the sink. Suds foamed under the hot water, steam curling up. He reached over, bumped my hip gently, and handed me a plate.

“Rinse.” He leaned in close. “I’ll judge your technique.”

“Is this like PE in elementary school, or are the stakes higher?”

His grin could have burned through the frost on the kitchen window. “Definitely higher. Fail, and you have to do all my laundry.”

He rinsed his own plate, hand brushing over mine again. I was starting to think he was doing it on purpose. Or maybe I just wanted him to be.

As he dried a glass, his shoulder pressed into mine, solid and warm. My entire body was humming. Was this flirting? If it wasn’t, someone should really tell my nervous system.

We stood there, the suds slowly dwindling, water running. My hands were red from the heat but otherwise numb. Ryan placed a clean mug on the rack, then turned, wiping his hands on a towel.

For a second, he just looked at me, searching my face like I’d said something remarkable.

The air tightened.

He stepped in, a fraction too close, hands damp. The towel fell onto the counter. His fingertips caught my wrist, the skin of my hand still slightly soapy. Warmth radiated up my arm, a straight line to the center of my chest.

Ryan’s face was right there, his eyes bright. I didn’t move, didn’t breathe, didn’t ruin it with a joke.

“Okay if I kiss you?” His voice was softer than I’d ever heard it.

I nodded, probably too fast, and then he did it. Kissed me, mouth pressing gently to mine, warm and easy, like he’d been waiting for this all day.