Page 27 of Where the Roses Bloom

And still, all I could think was: I want her there.

I heard her before I saw her—soft footfalls on the stairs, the quiet creak of the hallway floorboard that always gave you away. My hand tightened around the coffee mug. I didn’t move. Didn’t dare.

And then she stepped into the kitchen.

She looked like morning.

Hair a little mussed, lips still sleep-soft, wearing one of those oversized shirts that hit too high on her thighs and made it impossible to think straight. Bare legs. Bare feet. A yawn half-covered with the back of her hand. And eyes—those wide, witchy brown eyes—finding mine like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Hey,” she said, voice still rough with sleep.

I cleared my throat. “Hey.”

She smiled. Just a little. Like she knew something I didn’t.

I turned away too fast, busying myself with the coffee pot like it hadn’t already been emptied. “I can make breakfast,” I said, and immediately regretted how loud it came out. “If you’re hungry, I mean. I’ve got eggs. Toast. Bacon, if I didn’t let it go bad.”

Her smile widened. “You don’t have to fuss.”

“Not fussin’,” I muttered. “Just bein’ polite.”

She padded closer, warm and drowsy, and the scent of her hit me full force—rosewater and something sweeter. Something all her. My pulse jumped.

“You okay?” she asked softly.

I glanced at her, then back at the stove. “Just…wasn’t expectin’ you to look like that.”

She tilted her head. “Like what?”

“Like temptation walked into my kitchen and forgot her pants.”

She laughed—a breathy, delighted sound. And I knew I’d say just about anything to hear it again.

I reached for her waist, palms gentle as I slid them around her and tugged her close.

“Can I kiss you?” I asked, voice quiet.

Her smile softened. She rose onto her toes, nose nearly brushing mine.

“I was hoping you would,” she whispered.

I dipped my head and kissed her slow. Careful. Letting myself sink into the warmth of her mouth, the way she melted into me like we already belonged here, like we’d been kissing in this kitchen forever.

I pulled away, not knowing how far to go…not when this was so new, when we’d just met—even though it felt like I’d known her for a lifetime, like shelived in this house with me. Her smile turned sly, teeth snagging on her lower lip.

“Do it again,” she breathed.

Not careful this time.

Not slow.

Her breath caught, fingers curling in the hem of my shirt as I backed her into the counter, kissing her like I meant to make her feel it all day. Like I couldn’t stop myself. Like I didn’t want to.

Because God help me, I didn’t.

She parted her lips for me, let me in easy, soft moans rising from her throat as I tangled one hand in her hair and the other found the curve of her hip. She fit there like she was made for it. For me.

I wanted her.