Page 25 of Wild Heart
“No,” he huffed. “But there could have been!”
“Such a brat,” I muttered, but I pressed a kiss to the side of his head. His scent pierced my nostrils, and somehow, I felt it inside my chest.
“I like you in sweats and a t-shirt,” he told me. “You’re very cuddly.”
“Cuddly?” I grunted. “I am not cuddly.”
“Yes, you are. A total cuddle master. Warm, soft, and safe. Like a big ole’ teddy bear.”
Good God.
Tile met my feet when I carried him into the kitchen. The stove was still on, warming our dinner. Marcos’ face came away from my neck, and his nose flared as he sniffed the air.
“Did you…cookfor me?”
Wetting his lips, he stared up at me like I was magic. The sight of that glitter and the awe they framed made me feel fifty fucking feet tall.
“I usually live off takeout and scrambled eggs.”
“Not anymore.” Stepping up to the counter, I placed him on top of a stool. “I rarely have time to cook, but Ben’s put me on lockdown after last night.”
“Ugh.Freddy.”
“Baby, are you jealous of the man I torched?”
“Youtorchedhim?” He gagged a little. “That's disgusting.”
“I gave the order.” Bowl in hand, I made him a dish and set it in front him. “It’s hot. Don’t burn yourself.”
“Thank you,” he said. “And for the record, I think I’m jealous of any man who gets your attention.”
I grinned.
“Oh, does my jealousy please you?” He pressed a hard finger onto the counter and rose from his seat a little. “How about I go torch some fucker named Freddy and see how you like it?”
“You’re fucking cute,” I told him, and he flipped me off. “Sit your ass down and put that finger away before I tape both your hands to your sides and feed you.”
“Come and get me,” he challenged, and oh, I would.
But not yet.
Placing a second bowl on the counter, I climbed into the stool beside his. Narrow, brown eyes studied my position for a beat, and then he was crawling out of his stool and plopping his ass on my lap. I bit back a groan as he got comfortable.
Lips on his neck, he shivered beneath my breath, and I whispered, “Ask me how many relationships I’ve had.”
“No, I don’t wanna.”
“Ask me.”
“Fine!” He spat. “How many?”
“Zero.”
The space between his shoulders stiffened. “Really?”
“Swear it.”
“Aren’t you like forty or something?”
