Chapter 7
My interview at Three Kings was in two hours, and for the life of me I couldn’t decide what to wear. I didn’t have a lot of clothes; just some underwear, undershirts, a nightgown, a pair of jeans, and three oversized, faded flannel shirts.
My clothes didn’t even take up one drawer of the dresser.
Pathetic. You’re pathetic.
But the voice in my head didn’t belong to me. It belonged to him .
“Shut up,” I muttered out loud.
A knock on the front door made me freeze. Was it my neighbor from across the hall? Had she finally decided to be braver than me and introduce herself?
“Evie?” Savage called out.
My stomach flipped in excitement as I went into the living room.
I unlocked the chain and opened the door and took in his appearance. Black thermal shirt and his leather cut, along with jeans, boots and mussed blond hair. There were shadows beneath his eyes, like he hadn’t had a good night’s sleep. I wondered if it would’ve been different if I’d been next to him.
I shut that thought down.
Savage’s blue eyes raked over me.
I glanced down at my attire. I was still dressed in my nightgown. And were those—yep. My nipples. Standing at attention.
Hastily crossing my arms over my chest, I stepped aside and let him in.
He cleared his throat. “I brought you a breakfast sandwich.”
“I was just about to change.” I blushed.
“Not on my account, I hope.”
“I’m ignoring that comment.” I waved him toward the kitchen. “Make yourself comfortable.”
His jaw tightened and he nodded, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the paper bag.
I rushed into the bedroom. I stripped out of my nightgown and flung it onto the bed.
He moved around the kitchen, opening cabinets and drawers.
I slid into my jeans and the blue and black flannel shirt. I looked in the floor-length mirror that hung on the back of the closet door. After my shower last night, I’d brushed out my hair and let it air-dry. It had a slight wave to it, but I didn’t want to put it up despite it falling all the way to my waist.
“What’s that?” Savage asked as I came into the kitchen.
“What’s what?”
He pointed to the mason jar covered with a dish towel that rested on the counter.
“Oh. That’s my sourdough starter,” I explained.
On a plate was an unwrapped breakfast sandwich. He pushed it toward me. “How was your first night? And what’s a sourdough starter?”
I blinked as he pivoted the conversation. “My first night was fine. A sourdough starter is flour and water, and it naturally grows yeast. So, I can bake my own sourdough bread. I had to go to the store and get the flour, but?—”
“You went to the store?”
“Yes.”
“Last night?”
“Yes.”
“You took the bus? At night?”
“Of course I took the bus.” I frowned. “You told me where the bus stop was. What else was I supposed to do? I wasn’t going to walk.”
“You didn’t call me.”
“Why would I call you?” I demanded.
“So I could’ve gotten the flour for you.”
“That’s ridiculous,” I stated.
“I don’t like you riding the bus at night,” he said gruffly. He took a bite of his sandwich.
“Is this okay?” I gestured to my outfit. “What I’m wearing?”
“Not as nice as the nightgown, but it’ll do.”
“Savage!” My face flamed with heat.
He chuckled. “You look fine. Why are you worried?”
“I don’t know what to wear to an interview at a tattoo parlor,” I murmured.
“Exactly what you’re wearing. You’re a shoo-in.”
I reached for the sandwich on my plate. We ate in silence until he polished off the last bite of his food.
“So, you bake bread?” he asked.
“Yes.” I plucked a piece of bacon from the plate that had fallen from my sandwich and popped it into my mouth.
“Why?”
I paused and looked at him. “What do you mean, why? ”
“I mean, baking your own bread. That’s so . . . life on the prairie.”
“I grew up on a farm. Baking bread was part of that life.”
“No kidding? Like with chickens and stuff?”
“Yeah.” I nodded. “Have you ever had freshly baked sourdough?”
“Don’t think so.”
“You’d know. And I make it because I like to. Don’t you have things in your life you do just for the sheer enjoyment of it?”
“I guess.”
“Like what?”
He thought for a moment and then replied, “Long rides on my motorcycle.”
I finished the sandwich and then picked up Savage’s plate and set it in the sink.
“I missed you last night,” he said.
“Missed me?” I asked, trying for nonchalant even though my insides swirled with pleasure. “Oh?”
“I didn’t sleep well.”
I turned to face him and gestured to my eyes. “Yeah. I noticed.” I cocked my head to the side. “Is that usual for you?”
“Yes. I never sleep well.” He rubbed his jaw, scratching the stubble on his chin. His brow was furrowed. “Except . . .”
“Except what?”
“The night you crawled up next to me.” His blue gaze pinned me to the floor. “That was the best night’s sleep of my life.”
We stared at one another, something surging between us. Something I didn’t understand. Something that made me want to run and hide under the bed until it disappeared.
That night would forever be imprinted on my mind. As was the kiss we’d shared when I’d woken up in his arms.
He raked a hand through his hair in agitation. “Fuck, Evie. Waking up with you in my arms was like?—”
“Don’t swear,” I blurted out.
“Does swearing bother you?”
I nodded.
“I’ll try and stop.”
“No, you won’t.” I snorted.
“No, I won’t,” he admitted with a boyish grin.
I went to the cabinet and pulled out an empty quart-sized mason jar and set it down in front of him.
“What’s this? You gonna make me my own sourdough starter?”
“No. This is your new swear jar. Every time you swear, you put a dollar in the jar.”
He stood up from his seat and reached into his jeans pocket for his wallet. He fished out a twenty-dollar bill and dropped it into the jar.
“Preemptive,” he explained with a wry grin. “We both know how the fuck this is gonna go.”
I let out a laugh that came from deep within my belly.
“You’re beautiful. But you’re fucking stunning when you laugh.”
My expression softened. “Really? You really think that?”
“God, yes.” He growled. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”
“You can’t?” I whispered.
He came toward me and cradled the back of my head in his large hands, tilting my chin up so I was forced to look at him.
“I fantasize about your lips.”
I blinked. “You do?”
“Yeah, I do.”
And then his mouth covered mine. I sighed and he captured the sound.
“Open for me,” he murmured against my lips.
I opened and his tongue swept inside. I clung to him as our tongues met. I lost myself in the feel of him. I grazed his chest—reveling in the hardness of his muscles beneath my fingertips.
He held me with his strong hands like I was delicate, like I was something to be cherished and protected.
I ripped my lips from his and pressed my forehead to his chest so I could catch my breath and get my bearings.
Savage’s arms tightened around me. “Fuck.”
I looked up at him again and couldn’t stop my grin. “Good thing you pre-paid on the tip jar.”