Chapter 24
CHAPTER 24
T aylor wanders into the kitchen forty-five minutes after I began setting up.
He stops dead in the hallway, brows lifting at the veritable feast spread across the dining room table. I have bagels and toast, eggs cooked in three different ways, and a bowl stacked high with every kind of fruit we had in the fridge—a masterpiece inspired by way too many cups of coffee. And a far too active imagination.
Unsurprisingly, I didn’t get much sleep last night.
Every time I closed my eyes, I started picturing someone’s shirtless chest and a—
“Toast?” I call out, my voice shrill in the quiet. “I made lots and lots of toast.”
Taylor glances at the stack I already piled in the center of the table. “You’re wasting bread.”
“There’s jam and cream cheese in the fridge,” I say, pretending I didn’t hear him. “Is scrambled okay? I realized I didn’t know how you take your eggs.” I dump a heaping serving onto a plate already crowded with bacon and apple slices. I hold it out to him, a twitching smile stretched across my face.
At first, I assume he doesn’t take the plate because I look like a crazy person. With my disheveled hair and wrinkled pink bustier, I probably appear as sleep-deprived as I feel. And then it hits me.
“Oh.” I’d smack my forehead if my hands weren’t already occupied. Taylor doesn’t eat what he hasn’t seen being cooked. “I’ll just—”
“Can I get some of those hash browns, too?”
Taylor gestures to the skillet behind me and my jaw goes slack. He grabs a piece of toast, holding it between his teeth as he pours a cup of orange juice.
“Yes,” I say in utter shock. “Of course.”
“Thanks.” He accepts the plate with a half-smile, taking a seat at the table. “What got into you this morning? I haven’t seen this kind of manic energy since—”
“Don’t,” I warn, sliding into the chair across from him. He’s about to remind me of the time I panic-baked the Havens three dozen brownies for a potluck they ended up canceling last minute. It’s not my proudest moment.
“Wow, and you even burned every last slice of bread.” He takes a bite, slowly licking a smear of jam off his bottom lip. It feels intentional, the way he’s holding my gaze. Like he knows his lips do something to me, that I’ve imagined biting down on that exact smirk. “How positively domestic of you, Teach.”
Now I know it’s intentional—he’s purposefully trying to get under my skin. I reach out, snatching the piece of bacon from between his fingers. I stuff the whole thing in my mouth, sighing in exaggerated delight.
“Real mature.”
I stick out my tongue. “Real mature,” I mimic in a deep voice.
Taylor’s lips twitch. “Your eggs taste like rubber, you know.”
It’s true, which irritates me even more. “I’m sorry, Gordon Ramsey. Do you think you could do any better?”
Taylor holds up a blackened piece of toast. “I know I could.”
“Then prove it.”
“Maybe I will.”
I wave a hand. “Well, get on with it.”
“Tonight.” He crosses his arms. “I’ll make dinner. And if it’s better than your eggs, you owe me a favor.”
“You’re going to make a whole meal?” My eyes narrow. This sounds like a trap.
“A whole meal. From scratch.”
“I get to watch you. To make sure you don’t cheat.”
Taylor scoffs. “Like I’d need to.”
“Says the man who didn’t know how to boil water. Are you sure you can handle a real kitchen knife?”
Taylor looks up at me through lowered lashes. “Oh, Montes. You don’t have to worry about that. I’m told I’m very good with my hands.”
There it is again. The spark of mischief glimmering in his eyes. He’s grinning from ear to ear, inviting me to play whatever new game he’s invented. I don’t know what the stakes are, but that doesn’t stop me from leaning in.
I let my eyes fall to his mouth, lingering until his grin disappears. And then I smile, pushing my breasts against my crossed arms so that my cleavage spills over the top. Now it’s Taylor’s turn to sweat. He never lets his eyes fall beneath my chin, but I know he’s tempted. I draw my fingers over my collarbone, pushing my hair over my shoulder. I wonder what he’d do if I let my hand drift lower, graze the top of my breasts…
His jaw is clenched, like it’s taking effort to keep it from going slack. I wonder if Taylor isn’t as immune to me as he’d like to pretend. Maybe my itty bitty tops and sheer pajamas have had an effect after all. There’s only one way to find out.
“Taylor,” I drawl, letting my eyes drift back to his lips. “Why don’t you show me what you—”
Boom! Boom!
I startle at the noise, turning in the direction of the front door at the same time Taylor leaps up from his seat. He crosses the room, holding out an arm to stop me from following.
“Someone got past the gate,” he murmurs. A shadowy form is visible through the panels of the front door, their hands cupped against the glass like they’re trying to peer inside. Concern is etched in Taylor’s furrowed brow when he glances down at me. “I’m going to check it out. Stay in the kitchen and keep your phone close.”
He’s protective . I swallow, the realization catching me off-guard. Taylor’s always been so cold, so indifferent—it never occurred to me he might be capable of more. But watching his broad back straighten as he approaches the door, his chin lifted with steely resolve, only one thought occupies my mind:
I’m glad he’s here.
He glances behind him, making sure I’m out of sight when he slides the door open. “Can I help you?”
I swipe to my phone’s keypad, ready to call the police should Taylor need help. His tone is curt, but I’m grateful for the coolness. He sounds strong, capable. And for some reason, I’m certain he’ll keep me safe.
“Uh, are you Mr. Hedlund? You scheduled an appointment for us to come and take a look at your pipes out back.”
Instantly, Taylor’s posture shifts. The tension ebbs from his shoulders as he pulls out his phone. From my vantage point, I can see him double-checking his calendar. “Right. Yeah, sorry. I wasn’t expecting you. I thought I made that appointment a couple of weeks ago…”
He opens the door wider, giving me a glimpse of the man standing on the other side. He has on loose jeans and a green tee with a company logo emblazoned across the front. I pull up my own calendar, switching to the Havens’ personal feed. And there it is.
“Victor must have rescheduled,” I call out, letting out a breath of relief. “It’s on his calendar.”
The man at the door tries to glance at me, but Taylor blocks his view.
I hear a self-conscious chuckle before the man says, “We’ve actually come out a handful of times before. But no one’s ever answered the door.”
“That sounds about right.” Taylor runs a hand through the back of his hair. “My boss forgot to tell me you were coming. I’ll open the back gate for you.”
I move from my hiding spot to Taylor’s side. A handful of plumbers hop out of a truck parked in the middle of the driveway. “The Havens must’ve given them the gate code.” I scowl as it hits me. “They didn’t even give us the code.”
“They’re idiots,” Taylor murmurs, glancing down at me. “I’m sorry, they should’ve let us know. It would’ve been really fucked up if you were home alone.”
“But I wasn’t,” I say in a softer voice. “You were here with me.”
We exchange a look so unlike all the others that have come before it. There’s a weight to it, a heaviness that has my heart beating an irregular rhythm by the time Taylor looks away.
“I’ll go out back with them, see what they need. Will you be okay in here?”
There’s that protectiveness again. I feel like I’m seeing Taylor for the first time when he surveys me from head to toe. There’s nothing to worry about—it’s not like the plumbers have come to ransack the Havens’s home. But I appreciate his care all the same.
“I’ll head to the office then. Thanks, Taylor.”
His throat bobs once and then he nods. I watch him walk away, unable to tear my gaze away from his back until it disappears from sight.
The warmth of his presence lingers long after he’s left the room. I feel safe in my worst enemy’s company, I realize in a daze.
I am in huge fucking trouble.