Chapter 11
Reina
My stomach was fluttering. Were those butterflies? Roommates sharing a meal and watching a movie shouldn't make my heart beat faster.
I assumed we could sit close to each other on the couch and share popcorn, and it didn't mean anything. Except every brush of our fingers set an electric jolt through my arm while he seemed unaffected. Then there was the steady press of his thigh against mine.
He'd eaten the popcorn and kept his gaze on the screen.
When I mentioned that I had a nice time, but he didn't have to babysit me, he hadn't reacted. Why would he? He saw me as my brother's younger sister.
Why did I expect him to view me as a sensual woman, someone he could see himself with? It wasn't like we could be in a relationship, not with Tom between us. We couldn't be anything serious anyway. So why was I caught up in this fantasy of us?
He hadn't argued with me or said that we weren't friends. If he knew what I was feeling, he'd probably think I was silly.
I had a crush on my brother's best friend. It was ridiculous. I should be focusing on my business, not the heat between us. Heat that I'd obviously imagined.
As I got into bed, I couldn't help but think about the sudden change, from avoiding me to suddenly being everywhere. That had to mean something, didn't it?
It was the proximity, living in the same house and being forced to interact that had me mixed up.
If we lived separately, I wouldn't even think about him.
Then there was the daring rescue that conjured up all kinds of feelings inside me.
If not for those factors, he'd still be my brother's friend, someone I didn't know at all.
Instead, I was getting to know him and was forced to avoid looking at his bare chest every morning at breakfast. Surely, it would get easier. I'd get over this ridiculous crush and treat him like a roommate.
But I couldn't stop thinking about the way his shoulder felt under my head or the press of his hard thigh against mine.
What if he'd moved his hand to my thigh and let it trail up my bare legs to underneath my shorts?
If we were dating, would he finger me right there on the couch and bring me to orgasm while the movie was playing?
I squirmed under the blankets, my hand drifting closer to my waistband. It wouldn't hurt to take care of this ache I'd felt ever since I'd moved in. It was harmless to think naughty thoughts about my roommate while I gave myself a release.
I told myself it was innocent as my hand pushed under the band of my panties and between my folds. I was already wet. The entire evening had been foreplay, and Morgan was oblivious to it. If I took care of this incessant need, then I wouldn't be distracted by his bare chest at breakfast.
I was doing myself a favor. I just needed a release, and it didn't have to be by Morgan's hands. I could take care of myself.
I imagined him touching me while the movie played, him shoving my shorts down, and then my panties, telling me to spread my legs in that gravelly voice of his. Then he'd drop to his knees, settling between my legs so that he could suck on my clit and drive his fingers inside me.
It felt good to touch myself, but I wished it were his fingers instead. They'd be rough with callouses, from his work as a contractor, that would feel so good against my sensitive skin. And the scruff on his chin would make me tremble when he rubbed it against my cheek.
I thought about what it would feel like to finally touch his bare skin with his mouth on mine.
I was quickly spiraling higher, wanting that release but needing something more.
With the thought of him entering me, the orgasm shot through me.
I lost myself in the high, knowing it would have been so much better with his hands and mouth on me.
When the spasms eased, I felt needier than ever. I wanted the real thing.
No matter how good my imagination was, it didn't compare to Morgan Sterling in the flesh. I knew he'd be so much better than my fingers.
The next day, Morgan was dressed and pouring coffee when I came into the kitchen.
I pulled up short. "Why are you dressed already?"
"I thought I'd come with you to the bakery," he said matter-of-factly as if this was something people did all the time.
I frowned, accepting the to-go mug he was handing me. "Why?"
"I want to see what you do and how the kitchen flows for you. It's research for the renovation."
"You usually spend time in people's kitchens while they're cooking or baking so you can get a feel for their design?" I asked, a little perplexed.
He chuckled as he took a couple of burritos he'd already made and rolled them in tin foil. "We can eat these on the road."
"You made breakfast to go?" I asked, feeling like my brain wasn't working yet.
His lips quirked. "I've been making you breakfast before I go to work."
"Well, yeah, but you don't usually come with me to work." I gestured wildly with my hands, feeling completely off-center. I never baked in the early mornings with anyone in the kitchen. I was used to being alone. How would I act normally if he was watching me?
He'd see the slight tremble in my fingers or the flush in my skin, and he'd know that I was attracted to him. I wouldn't be able to hide it.
He stepped close, holding the burritos. "You want the perfect kitchen, don't you?"
I blinked at him. "Of course but—"
"I want to get a feel for how you work and what you need."
Were we still talking about the kitchen, or had we veered into my fantasies? Did he hear me last night? Had I moaned?
"We'd better get going if you want to have something baked for your regulars by the time you open." He stepped past me, and I let out the breath I'd been holding. He was intense in the morning. He was on high alert and ready to take on the world when I was fumbling around in the dark.
I grabbed a jacket and shoes, then climbed into the passenger side of his truck. I could have driven myself, but I wanted to eat on the way, and if he was going to hijack my morning, then he could be my chauffeur.
He handed me one of the tinfoil burritos, which was still warm. He turned on the engine, adjusting the heat for the cool morning air, while I slowly unwrapped it. "I can't believe you're going to watch me work."
"I need to get a feel for the space you'll need."
"You intend to come with me multiple times?" I squeaked, not proud of the break in my voice.
He grinned at me, his expression easygoing. "How else do you expect me to get the right feel?"
Again, my body heated at his words. He was talking about baking, and I was thinking about his hands on my body. We were in different worlds, and I needed to join him in his, because hanging around in the clouds wasn't smart. Not when my heart was on the line.
He inclined his head toward the burrito still resting in my hands. "Eat. I have a feeling we're going to be busy as soon as we get there."
"You're bossy," I mumbled as I took a bite of the burrito, which was delicious. He'd added bits of tomatoes and sausage to the eggs.
He grinned. "You're the boss in the kitchen until we start construction."
I sighed, not sure what to do with this new Morgan, the one focused on me. He said it was because of the renovation, but that felt off. Sure, I believed he was good at his job and went above and beyond, but observing someone in the kitchen? That felt personal. Intimate even.
The kitchen had always been my refuge, and he'd be watching me work.
And it was the one place where I could forget about the fire, my brother, and Morgan.
He'd be standing in the small space. Talking to me and brushing against my body, acting as if it was all perfectly normal while my blood simmered for him.
This was going to be a disaster.
He glanced over at me, his forehead wrinkled. "Why are you eating that burrito like it did something to you?"
I sighed heavily. "I'm not."
"You are."
"It was good. Thank you." I was determined to put up walls and boundaries. I wouldn't let him get to me, because I knew for a fact that he saw me as a sister. Not a woman he desired.
I was tired, grumpy, and irritated that the object of my fantasies was feeding me breakfast and invading my space. If he didn't want me, then he should stay away. It was easier when he worked long hours on job sites far away from the house we shared.
He parked in the lot behind the town hall, and we walked in silence into the building. He waited for me to unlock the door and then went inside. I flipped on the lights as we went. Downstairs, the new bakery tables were already set up with signs and a tablecloth. They just needed baked goods.
I'd strung lights around the cafeteria to give it a similar feel to the bakery so that people would stay and socialize.
He looked around the space. "This is nice."
"I wanted it to be inviting for people to stay a while and socialize. My bakery is a place where people talk and make friends."
"You mean, it's the prime spot for gossip," he said dryly.
I laughed softly. "My lips are sealed."
I pushed through the door to the kitchen and gathered everything I needed for the morning.
I'd written a list of items I wanted to make this morning, which was based on what had been popular the last few days.
I used more fruit in the summer and whipped cream.
People wanted light, not heavy food during this time of the year.
They didn't want to feel weighted down after they left the bakery. At least, not in the morning.
Morgan stood by the door, devouring his burrito while I measured and poured. When he was finished eating, he sipped his coffee and then washed his hands.
He paused by the prep area. "Where do you need me?"
I gave him a look. "You're not baking."
"Why not?" he asked innocently.
I pursed my lips. "You don't know what you're doing."
"You can teach me."
I rolled my eyes. "I thought you were here to see how I worked, not to learn from me."
"Why can't I do both?"