Page 86 of Stone: The Precursor

“You mean you don’t drink lattes with cold foam, caramel swirls and a dusting of cinnamon?” He looks horrified, and I laugh, taking the cup from him, sipping the dark brew. It’s smooth, but I do wish I had some cream and sugar, but that would mean leaving, and I’m not ready to go yet.

Stone sips from his own cup. “How are you feeling?”

“Better. Still crampy.”

He nods and then lifts the lid off a pan on the stove. Then I smell something that makes my stomach growl. “Sit.”

“You really need to work on your communication skills.” He looks over his shoulder, and that slight tilt of his lips makes me want to cheer. It’s a sort of smile.

A plate of food is set in front of me, and I’m shocked down to my painted toes. It’s beautiful. Fresh avocado slices, cut perfectly, lay fanned out on the plate. There’s also crisp bacon, sourdough toast, and fluffy scrambled eggs with what looks like spinach cooked with them. “This is a lot of food.”

“You need to replenish the blood loss.” When he says it, I feel my face blush. He knows exactly how much blood I lost since he was the one who removed my period cup. The look on his face says he remembers it, too. We both remember the way he removed my cup and what came after. I cross my legs, tingleserupting deep in my pussy. The orgasm in his tub is one I won’t forget. I pick up the fork, needing a distraction. “I love avocado.”

“I know.”

Frowning, I stare at him. “How?—?”

“Eat.”

Sighing, I fork up a bit of avocado and egg. It’s delicious. I stare at him. “I’m pleasantly surprised.”

“Why?”

“I thought you ate whiskey or some sort of hard liquor for breakfast.”

“Only on Tuesdays.”

I pause and then laugh until tears come to my eyes. I didn’t anticipate that he could be funny. Sexy, stubborn, and an asshole? Definitely. But witty and charming? No. The man leaves me in a tailspin. He brings daisies to his mother. He took care of me when I had terrible period cramps. He continues to watch me, and when his eyes travel down to my plate of food, I sigh. He’s worse than the teachers at the boarding school, who would demand you clean your plate before leaving breakfast. “You’re worse than the lunch matrons at my boarding school.”

“Boarding school?”

“Yup. The Dana Hall School. ‘Amor Caritas.’”.

“Love and Charity,” he murmurs.

“You know Latin?”

“Among other things.”

“Something tells me other things mean, most things.” He raises an eyebrow at my words. I want to confront him about knowing that he has a degree in Forensic Anthropology. I want to ask him about his mother and learn what happened to get him convicted of manslaughter. “Fine, don’t tell me about where you learned Latin.”

“Is the school that where you learned all your prissy manners?”

My eye roll must be seen from heaven. “I’m not prissy.”

He shrugs, sipping his coffee, and I frown at his smirk. “What makes you think I’m prissy?”

“Maybe prissy’s not the right word. Proper. There’s something very proper about you. Safe. Something that tells me you don’t break the rules.”

There it is again. The subtle insult about me being boring. Reed insinuated the same thing. That I was boring. He claimed fucking me was like sleeping with a chair.“I break rules all the time. I’m breaking one right now aren’t I?”

He eases off the counter and heads toward me, leaning over the table until I have to crane my neck back. “Yeah? What rule is that?”

“Being here with you. I haven’t told my brother. Jace would kill me if he knew. He might even hurt you for fingering me. Twice.”

He doesn’t respond, but I catch the muscle moving in his cheek. “He could try.” His words could be taken in jest, but for some reason, I know he’s serious. I swallow. A fight between him and Jace would not be funny. I remember how they both acted at Silas’s wedding.

He gets up and pours more coffee, and suddenly I remember. “Shit! Jagger!”