Chapter 16 Variation in Genetically Complex Traits #3
I scrunched my face, doing the mental subtraction on his triple negative: not, not, not. “That’s . . . Wait, does that mean—”
He set down the whisk. “What I mean is, you enjoy eggs Benedict. I enjoy watching you enjoy things, even if it is not something I am able to experience for myself. I derive enjoyment from your enjoyment.” He glanced at me quickly, then picked up his coffee.
Pondering his statement, I asked stream of consciousness, “Is that why you were always going down on me when I lived here?”
He choked. Full-on, spectacularly choked, nearly spitting out his coffee. And as Andreas coughed and sputtered, his shocked stare swung to me, wide-eyed and pink cheeked.
Realizing belatedly what I’d said, I averted my gaze and hid my grimace behind my own coffee. Then I set my mug down and crossed to the sink penitently, filling a glass with water. I walked over and handed it to him. He accepted, his glassy eyes still wide but this time with plain suspicion.
After a moment, when he’d composed himself, he rasped, “Was that a real question? Or were you trying to make me choke on my coffee?”
“Why can’t it be both?” I hedged, trying for a joke.
His teeth slid to the side, and he actually smiled, just a little. Andreas turned off the burner, set the pan aside, and leaned his hip against the counter, glaring at me. “Fine. Yes. I enjoy watching you enjoy yourself. A lot. And when I am the direct cause of your enjoyment, even better.”
His voice dropped on the last word, and the sound of it made my stomach flip. A ridiculous, unwelcome warmth filled my chest. “Good to know.”
Again I sipped my coffee, trying to pretend my skin wasn’t prickling.
Still glaring at me, he added, “But, when I ‘went down on you,’ I also enjoyed myself, unrelated to your enjoyment. Immensely. Just like I enjoy myself when you sleepwalk into my bedroom at night. . .” He allowed the end of the sentence to hang between us, not really an ending at all.
Ah. There it was. My opening. Time to showcase my personal growth.
Sighing silently, I set the coffee cup down on the counter and faced him. “About last night—”
“It is no big deal.” Turning from me, he plated the English muffin, Canadian bacon, and eggs, added a swirl of hollandaise, and handed the dish to me.
I set it on the counter next to my coffee.
“But it is a big deal to me. I have very big, unresolved feelings for you. I—I think I’m still in love with you”—gah!
I said it. I admitted it. And I survived—“and it’s not fair to either of us for me to walk into your bedroom at night and complicate everything. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
“You were asleep.” Not looking at me, Andreas scooped rice seasoned with saffron onto his plate and covered it with a generous helping of savory-looking black beans, his movements aggressive. “So what if you are in love with me? What is the problem? I am in love with you, too.”
My stomach flipped again. “You know it’s not that simple. Sleeping with you blurs a line I have no intention of crossing, not right now, maybe never, I don’t know yet.”
He shot me another glare. It felt full of longing, but also frustrated beyond belief.
Yet, I would not be deterred from my big speech. “And—given how honest you’ve been, at times painfully honest—I don’t want to send mixed signals or—”
Andreas set his plate down and faced me again. “Do not use last night as an excuse to leave. We both knew it might happen, therefore no lines were blurred. I know I am not forgiven.”
My heart twisted. “Andreas, it’s not that I don’t forgive you. It’s that I’m not sure if—I’m not sure if I can—”
“You were asleep,” he repeated, firmer this time. “And if it happens again tonight, so be it.”
“It won’t happen again tonight because I can’t stay here. It hurts us both, and I don’t want to hurt you. Listen, I know how you feel. I believe you when you say that you love me, but I’m not sure—”
His feet carried him a step closer. “Samantha. What are you going to do? Where will you stay? Was Tara able to find evening security for you? Will she sleep over?”
I sighed again, much louder this time. “I’ll figure something out. I’ll—”
Closing the distance between us, he gathered my hands and held them pressed between his palms, his gaze intensely sincere and imploring.
“Please. Please stay. I will have no expectations of you. But knowing you are safe, here—it will keep me from worrying. If you do not stay, then I will not be able to sleep either. Please.”
I felt myself waver.
Perhaps sensing my indecision, he shuffled closer, his hands curling around my fingers. “And I promise, I will not take advantage of the situation . . . for at least ten days.”
That made me laugh.
He smiled. “Worry-free sleep. This buys you the time needed to sleepwalk-proof your apartment. I will rest easier knowing you are safe. Seriously, no expectations. What do you say?”
Trying and failing to flatten my expression, I glanced down and to the side, searching the kitchen for a reason to say no. Instead, I found my eggs Benedict. If anything, Andreas’s yummy breakfasts alone were a reason to stay. Traitor eggs. Aptly named.
Sucking in a deep breath, I surrendered. “Fine. Yes. Fine. Okay. Thank you. No expectations. I will sleep here until I figure out a solution and can stay at my place.”
Andreas flashed a huge grin, as though he’d won much more than I’d yielded. Almost at once, he said, “Good. You will stay. It is settled,” and released my fingers, cheerfully picking up his plate and leaving the kitchen.
Meanwhile, I wondered if I would regret yielding to Andreas Kristiansen.