Page 47 of Fire Fight

A moment later, she reappeared…wearing pants. I bit back a groan.

“I’m so sorry again about that,” she said as she moved toward the stove, shoving me out of the way to stir the soup. Her cheeks were as red as the tomatoes, and I loved that I flustered her so much. “I’ll start remembering to put pants on. I’m so used to living alone, you know?” She glanced up at me. “I haven’t had to share space with someone in a really long time, and?—”

I cut her off with a finger to her lips, a dangerous touch that singed my skin. “It’s fine, Aspen. Really. This is your home now too. Do whatever makes you comfortable.”

And itwasfine…even if I’d be fucking my fist later to nothing but the memories of her sexy, silky-smooth legs, and the idea of how they’d feel wrapped around my waist—or my head.

I really had to get my shit together.

fifteen

. . .

ASPEN

Crew clearedhis throat and he shuffled away from me, giving me some much needed distance from his…everything.

“So, what’re you making?” he croaked.

Tipping my face away from him, my lips tilted up in a small smile. Knowing I flustered him as much as he did me was a powerful realization.

“Tomato, hamburger, and rice soup. It’s a simple dish, but one of my ultimate comfort meals. I thought it would make me feel better, after everything, and you had all the ingredients…” I trailed off as I shot him a sheepish smile. “Sorry. I should’ve asked before rifling through your shit.”

“What did I just tell you?”

The words were practically a growl, emanating from deep in his chest.

“To make myself comfortable?” I said, though my inflection at the end phrased it as more of a question.

“Exactly.” He leaned forward and sniffed as I stirred. “And this smells fucking amazing.”

My cheeks were damn near flaming now.

I was used to living alone and spending the bulk of my timeon my own. Even on a case, I was a one woman show, a solitary operation. It had been nearly fifteen years since I’d lived with my parents, and roughly twelve since I had any sort of roommate. I was operating on an outdated playbook regarding cohabitating etiquette.

Crew hadn’t seemed to mind, though. I hadn’t missed the way his eyes heated as he’d taken me and my bare legs in earlier. There was such…desirein that look. Despite my embarrassment, it made me feel good. Reminded me that I was alluring, that someone found me attractive.

I was simply having a hard time wrapping my brain around this tattooed, action-figure-come-to-life, literal hero being the one.

Then again, he didn’t know my story. Crew could easily look at me and see something other than the broken girl I’d considered myself since my sister died.

While I added the finishing touches to the soup, Crew withdrew half of a baguette from the pantry, sliced, buttered, and topped it with thick cut mozzarella before putting it in the oven broiler.

Honestly, his kitchen was a dream. Hell, the entire house belonged on the cover of a lifestyle magazine.

When the soup was done, we carried bowls and the tray of bread to the island and sat side by side to eat.

The silence was surprisingly companionable as we tucked in. I didn’t feel any sort of compulsion to fill it with pointless babble. Crew was easy to be around. There were no frills about the man. So far as I could tell, he was a what-you-see-is-what-you-get kind of guy, but I also had a feeling there was more to him than met the eye.

When we finished, the tray of bread nothing but crumbs and our bowls practically licked clean, Crew wordlessly gathered our dishes and brought them to the sink, rinsing them before loading them into the dishwasher.

I added that to the mental list of things I liked about him. For all intents and purposes, he was a bachelor, but by the state of his home, you’d never know it. Everything was clean but cozy, not a thing out of place.

“Do you have a housekeeper or something?”

He glanced at me over his shoulder, brow creased, and despite having those gorgeous blue eyes focused wholly on me, I found myself instead distracted by the broad expanse of his back and the muscles shifting beneath his thin tee.

Living with this man would be a lesson in self-control.