Milo #2
“Are you okay?” Rowan asks with a groan. He has me pressed tightly against his chest, blocking me from any danger.
“Fine,” I mumble weakly.
My heart is hammering in my chest, not because of the fall, but because I’m once again plastered all up against Rowan. This time, I’m fully naked, and the leather scent that clings to him is making me dizzy.
It’s only been two days since I saw him or caught a whiff of his scent, and now it’s like my body has tuned out everything besides how delicious he smells and how good it feels to be wrapped up in his arms.
I’m hard in an instant, which is mortifying on its own without being pressed up against Rowan.
Maybe he won’t notice? Maybe it’s not a big deal?
I feel the exact moment Rowan stiffens under me, and my hopes of sweeping this all under the rug are washed away.
I press my face deeper into his chest, which probably isn’t the best idea considering it’s only making his heady scent wrap around me even more.
I wish his scent could just swallow me whole and save me from this embarrassment.
“It’s the, um, adrenaline. Don’t worry about it,” Rowan says gently.
My face is still pressed into his chest, but his gentle tone makes me look at him. He’s staring up at the ceiling, and a hint of red that matches his hair is creeping up his neck. It’s adorable, and it’s only making my hard-on worse.
“What if that’s not the reason?” I whisper.
Rowan’s breath catches in his chest. A second passes, then his chest rises again, with me on top of it.
He peers at me. Our eyes meet in a burning gaze that has me feeling downright warm despite my nakedness.
It’s Rowan’s heat seeping into me. I want to sink further into it. It’s too comfortable to resist.
And then I feel it: the huge bulge against my stomach, growing. My eyes widen because now Rowan’s hard too, and it’s a temptation that’s much too difficult for me to resist.
Rowan has the willpower of a saint, apparently, because he sits me up and covers me with my towel in one quick movement. I’m wrapped up before I can even process what’s happening.
“You should get dressed before you catch a cold. Your hair is still dripping wet too,” he mumbles, his eyes flicking everywhere but at me.
We’re back to playing the oh-so-fun game where we pretend we’re not attracted to each other. Where Rowan covers his crotch with his hands and ignores the lust that’s practically palpable, and I must go another minute without his lips on mine.
What fun!
I take a deep, calming breath that isn’t soaked with Rowan’s scent, then very confidently stride upstairs to get dressed, as he suggested.
That’s not to say I’m giving up. Quite the opposite. I’m a man with a plan, and that plan starts with the stomach.
Rowan is by the kitchen island, unpacking the bag he’d dropped by the elevator.
“Was someone baking earlier?” he asks. He catches my eye, but his gaze quickly shifts away again.
No matter!
I’m not the type to quit before I even get started!
I sidle up to his side, bumping his hip with mine. For a man who stands so tall, the action has him stumbling a bit. He quickly finds his footing and acts as if nothing’s happened.
“Someone did bake.” I smile to myself and say, “Me!”
He raises a brow at me. “You know how to bake?”
“I know it’s hard to believe, but I am a man of many talents. In fact, I made you those croissants!”
The look on Rowan’s face is almost laughable. He’s now showing his expressions so clearly that it’s a wonder how I ever thought he was stoic.
“You made these for me…?” He lets the question linger in the air.
“Yeah! You told me and Ethel how you really liked them the other day.”
“That doesn’t mean you had to make me them. They must have taken you forever,” he murmurs.
“All night, actually!” I blurt happily. He looks appalled, and I realize how my words sounded. “I didn’t say that to make you feel bad. I’m actually quite proud of myself for not giving up and successfully making one of your favorite foods! It’s a thank-you for everything you’ve done for me.”
And hopefully to wiggle into your heart.
But I don’t say that last part out loud.
“I didn’t even do anything that warrants thanks. I’ve just been doing my job,” he rumbles out.
“You gave me food, and that’s not part of your job description. Most importantly, you eat with me. That’s already worth a lifetime of croissants,” I reply with a grin.
And then it happens. He faces me, and one corner of his mouth hooks up in a lopsided grin, causing my heart to stutter. If it made him smile like that, I’m willing to make him croissants for the rest of my life.
“Thanks,” he rumbles. “That’s really thoughtful of you.”
I beam and pick up the best-looking croissant of the batch and hand it to him. I’m proud of the golden flakiness, void of any charred marks.
“This one must taste good!” I exclaim.
Rowan is smiling softly as he accepts it and takes a bite.
“Well? How is it?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer and takes bites in succession until the entire thing disappears into his stomach. Meanwhile, my smile is stretching my face so wide it almost hurts. Seeing how he ate it so eagerly, it must be good.
Rowan takes a second to swallow, then faces me with that same smile on his face. My chest is puffed up with pride. I try to grab one for myself, but Rowan shoots out a hand to stop me.
“I thought you said they’re for me?” he asks.
“They are, but shouldn’t I at least try my handiwork?”
“There’s no need!” He says it so quickly it makes me suspicious.
Could it be…
“Do you like them so much that you want them all for yourself?” I ask, still beaming at him.
“Uh, yes! Exactly!” Rowan agrees quickly and grabs another piece for himself.
I happily watch him devour another croissant and soak up every soft smile he shoots my way. I knew my plan would work!
Nobody can resist food. The stomach is the surefire way to the heart!