Love You Always (Buttercup Hill #5)

Chapter 23

CHAPTER 23

A rcher

“I borrowed this. Hope it’s okay,” Ella says, padding into my kitchen wearing an old gray shirt of mine that was sitting on the folded laundry pile in my room. It’s worn and nearly see-through in places. Her pert nipples are outlined in perfect detail by the sheer fabric and the hem is just short enough for me to see that she’s not wearing anything underneath.

Standing in front of my stove in sweatpants, I finish beating a bowl of eggs and milk and let the mixture slide into a pan of sizzling butter.

“Princess, it’s okay if you wear it every damn day. Nothing on the planet is sexier than you in my shirt. C’mere.”

Ella seems tentative as she comes closer, but as soon as she’s within reach, I pull her to me and wrap her in my arms. Her body relaxes and I bend to kiss her. Our lips fuse, bodies melt. In moments, we’re both breathless. Ella puts a hand on my chest and pushes back a few inches to look at me. “So it wasn’t my imagination.”

“What?” I ask.

She gestures between us. “This. Our chemistry. It really is that good.”

“It’s that good.” I kiss her again, slower this time, easing into the feel of her lips melting against mine, loving having her hands on my skin. I hear an angry popping in the pan and break the kiss. “Shit.”

The eggs are stuck to the pan, dried out and browned in places. I scrape the mixture away to try to salvage what I can of my scramble. “Not sure this is edible,” I admit, looking at the unappetizing plate. It makes me recall days back when I was a teenager and our mother had just moved out. With four younger siblings waiting for breakfast and our father upstairs working, I did my best to make eggs and toast for everyone, having never made toast, let alone cracked an egg.

A fair amount of eggshell ended up in the mix and the scramble burned because I didn’t know to add butter to the pan. My siblings were content enough to have something resembling breakfast, but when our dad came downstairs, he sniffed the air. “Thought I smelled something burning.”

“I made eggs,” I said proudly, anticipating his appreciation for getting everyone fed without being asked.

He took a forkful from PJ’s plate and crunched down on a piece of eggshell. Wincing, he spit the bite into the sink. Two days later, we had a full-time nanny who did all the cooking.

I sigh at the reality that all these years later, I haven’t improved much.

“It looks great. Do you have some cheese? With enough melted cheese we won’t even see the eggs.”

A wave of warmth floods my body and the ache that lives deep in my chest eases a tiny bit. “Deal. ”

She goes to the refrigerator and finds the cheese drawer, returning a moment later with a block of cheddar. “We can put the eggs on toast and leave them under the broiler for a sec to melt the cheese.”

“That’s some next level cooking, princess. And here I figured you had a staff to fetch you green juice and twenty-dollar acai bowls.”

She sticks her tongue out at me. “When are you going to stop doing that?”

“What?” I open a drawer and take out a cheese grater.

“Making assumptions about me. You think I’m this celebrity diva who doesn’t live like a normal person.” She takes the grater from my hand and starts working on the cheese, attacking it with such gusto that shreds fly everywhere and very few end up in a pile on the counter.

“Sorry.” I kiss the tip of her nose. “No more assumptions. I like everything about you.”

The toaster dings and I use the distraction to avoid answering her questions. Retrieving the toasted sourdough slices, I put them on a plate and start piling my ugly eggs on each piece. I slide the plates across the counter to Ella. “Here you go. Ready for cheese.”

She sprinkles cheddar on top of the eggs, and I put everything back in the toaster oven to broil. Then I fill up a coffee mug and beckon her toward me. She moves around the island block, and I wrap a hand around her waist to pull her close. “I can’t have you that far away,” I say, nuzzling the sweet-smelling skin of her neck. She purrs and drapes her hand over my shoulder, fingers brushing the back of my neck.

With both hands on her hips, I lift her onto the tile counter and lean into her. She wraps her legs around my waist and dips her head down to kiss me. In less than five seconds, I forget all about our breakfast, completely sated by the taste of her. The ding of the toaster breaks our kiss, and I reluctantly move away .

“Don’t think you’re escaping that conversation. I want to know why you’re so hung up about LA,” she says, hopping down from the counter. I stay focused on the toast, calculating the odds that I can distract her in some other way. When she comes up behind me and wraps her arms around my waist, I decide my odds are good. I turn toward her and bend to kiss her again, but she leans away, wagging a finger. “Down, boy. No treats for you until you talk.”

“Did you just reprimand me like a puppy?”

She shrugs. “Are you trying to misbehave like one?”

Bouncing my eyebrows, I can’t resist the idea of misbehaving just a little bit more. She squeals as I scoop her up in my arms and start marching toward the staircase that leads back to my bedroom. “Princess, you have no idea.”

Her arms loop around my neck and she giggles. “Fine. Be that way. But eventually, we’re gonna talk.”

I reach the top of the stairs, and my lips are on hers. It’s a deep, searching, desperate kiss that I may not recover from. No more talking.

After a sex marathon that has us both splayed out on our backs panting, Ella rolls to the side and puts her cheek on my chest. “I’ll melt cheese on toast for my man every day of the week, if that’s the result.” She sighs, and I’ve never felt anything better in the world than this woman claiming me as hers.

Twisting my fingers through the strands of her hair, I want to pinch myself to make sure this is real. Ella pushes herself up and faces me, cross-legged. “Okay. Is this where I get to ask you all the things I’ve been dying to know?”

I chuckle, wondering what she could possibly be dying to know. “Have you been idly waiting, just hoping to get me into bed so you could pepper me with questions? Is that your game, lady?”

“I told you I was a nerd. I like information.”

I don’t share things with people unless I have to, but all bets are off with her. Something about her openness makes me want to give as good as I get.

“Fine. What do you want to know?”

She sits up and rubs her hands together like she’s hatching a plan. “What does the Great Grumpy Grape do for fun, other than roll heads and growl at passersby, of course?”

“You’re never going to let that nickname go, I’m guessing.”

“Not a chance. So spill, Triple G.”

“I, um, I run.” Tucking my hands behind my head, I feel like that went well enough. One question, one hobby.

But she shakes her head. “Nope, not good enough. What’s something you like to do that not many people know about? Come on, Grape, let me get to know you better.”

“Okay. Well…I…play hockey.”

“Wait, what? How did I not find this out earlier? It’s my absolute favorite sport.”

I immediately regret telling her because a hockey fan will have expectations, and I’m just an amateur player in a rec league. So I offer what I can. “Well, if that’s the case, I can probably hook you up. My brother-in-law plays for the Oakland Otters.” I can feel my face redden. “I guess you don’t need me pulling favors when you’re a celebrity. You could probably get a seat at center ice anytime you want.”

She holds up a hand. “Okay, first, I don’t do that celebrity front-of-the-line shit…at least not very often.” I smile at that. “And second, I want to see you play, not some team anyone could watch.”

A muscle in my jaw ticks as I try not to smile even wider, but I lose the battle .

“If you want to watch, I’ll get you the best seat in the house. Which means somewhere on uncomfortable bleachers with the wives and girlfriends of the other sad sacks I play with.”

“Perfect. I’m in. Can I really come watch you?”

“Princess, nothing would make me happier.”