Page 17 of Finding Grey
“What are you staring at?” he asked grumpily.
My gaze flicked back and forth between the shirt and his face, before I blurted the first thing that came to mind. “Aren’t rock stars supposed to wear designer everything?”
“Only if they’re tossers,” he replied, raking fingers through his curls.
The sight of them made my own fingers itch to have a go. He wore the curls shorter now, although the ends still brushed against his shoulders. How the hell did he manage to climb out of bed with a halo of loose ringlets instead of a mess of frizzy knots? If he could bottle that ability, he wouldn’t need to be a rock star to earn his fortune.
“Is there any coffee?” That may have been his way of asking me tostopstaring now.
“Coming right up.” I moved around the kitchen at lightning speed and had a milky cup of foam-topped goodness before him in less than two minutes.
He hummed his appreciation as he sipped. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” I wanted to ask him about the t-shirt. Except, I already sounded like a weirdo for commenting on his clothes. There was no way I could ask. Setting up a small frying pan, I broke a couple of eggs into it and beat them lightly.
Fuck it. I had to know. “Cool shirt,” I said, glancing up from the stove.
He frowned as he looked down, rubbing one hand against his chest. The move wasn’t provocative though, as I might have expected based on his behaviour last night. It seemed more like… comfort. “A friend gave it to me,” he murmured in a low voice. “You like Nick Cave?”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.A friend gave it to me.He hadn’t acted much like a friend when he stood me up. How did he end up with the present I’d left behind anyway, considering he left the venue before I did? I had written his name on the top, so I could only assume someone had found it and delivered it to him later.
Orange juice was poured and freshly popped toast received a slathering of butter. Piling a heap of scrambled eggs onto a pre-warmed plate, I added a sprinkling of fresh parsley to garnish. “I usually serve meals in the dining room,” I explained as I grabbed cutlery from a drawer, “but I thought, since it’s just yourself, you might like to eat out on the patio by the pool. Which would you prefer?”
Dante reached out with one hand to snag the edge of the plate and drag it across the counter. “Here’s fine.”
“Oookay.” I handed him the cutlery and shifted the orange juice within easy reach. “Enjoy.”
Silence fell for a few minutes while Dante ate, and I cleaned up. It wasn’t as awkward as I would have expected. Perhaps because he didn’t seem fully awake, so the rock star attitude had yet to make an appearance. I liked him better this way—when he wasn’t being a total dick.
“This is good, thanks,” he said after a few bites. “It’s not necessary for you to cook breakfast for me every day, though. As long as I can find my way to a box of cereal, I’m good to go most mornings.”
“If you’d prefer,” I said with a nod. “But if you decide you’d like something hot, you can leave a note here on the counter the night before to let me know.” Dante lifted an eyebrow at me and I caught the edges of his amusement but had no idea of the cause. “What?”
“There are some nights I have a hankering forsomething hot, I’ll admit. Didn’t think it was the sort of thing I could order with a note though.”
My eyes fell closed and I let out a mortified breath. I did not say that. Okay, I did say that, but I hadnotmeant that. “Yes, well,” I forced a bright smile, feigning ignorance, “what’s Sunday morning without crispy bacon and the sizzle of fried eggs?”
Throwing his head back, Dante cackled with laughter. “You might have a point there, Sean.”
“I know I do,” I said with an exaggerated nod.
Our eyes met—and held. All traces of humour faded. There was a long moment of heavy eye-fucking and then, just as I was sure I’d groan aloud at the pleasure of it, his gaze fell away.
I cleared my throat. “What time would you like your tour?” I asked, hoping the change in conversation would ease the sudden tension that had sprung up between us.
“Actually…” He stood up so fast the stool wobbled, and he had to grab on to it before it toppled over. “I thought I might go for a wander by myself, after all. Take my time, get a feel for the place.” He edged back towards the hallway as he spoke.
“Fine.” I couldn’t help but wonder what had motivated the sudden change of plan. Did he think I’d try to jump him as soon as we hit the darkened confines of the studio? Or perhaps he worried he’d jump me.Don’t even go there, Sean.Brushing off both possibilities, I shrugged and said, “Call me if you get lost, yeah?”
His own mouth twisted into a reluctant grin. “I’ll do that.” A quick, “Thanks for breakfast,” was added before he disappeared around the corner.
I looked down at the half-eaten plate of food. “Don’t mention it.” Pulling the plate back to my side of the counter, I forked a bite of eggs into my mouth. It wasn’t until I washed the last bit of toast down with the juice a few minutes later that I realised what I’d done. Cursing under my breath, I gathered up the empty dishes and dumped them into the sink. It never would have occurred to me to touch the leftovers of any other guest. But with Dante it seemed… natural.
Somewhere, off in the distant recesses of my mind, I heard a raucous clanging—of alarm bells.