Page 57 of A Hard Habit to Break

“Bad ClamClam,” he shouted, as the furball bounded off the bed and scurried down the open staircase. “You’re this close to losing one life. For real.”

“Hey, you’re the one who installed a pet door,” came Rachel’s disembodied voice.

The scent of bacon hit his nose, and his stomach rumbled awake. The soft clatter of dishes downstairs brought a smile to his face. She was still here. She’d stayed.

“I know,” he chuckled, thinking of the turn of events. Rachel Johnson had spent the night in his arms. “Never expected a little redhead in my bed, though.”

Noah rolled out of bed, not bothering to pull on his jeans from the night before as he entered the master bath. Rachel’s shorts still lay crumpled on the floor beside his jeans, and his pillow held the faint scent of her hair—vanilla and something uniquely her that made his chest tighten with longing.

“Life happens. Oh”—the sound of a cabinet door closing drifted up from below—“I found a new toothbrush in the medicine chest. Hope you don’t mind me snooping through your stuff. I didn’t want to wake you.”

“As if that were possible,” Noah said, rinsing his mouth of toothpaste.

She didn’t reply. Instead, he heard what sounded suspiciously like Rachel berating inanimate objects. “Come on, you stupid coffee pot… where does he keep the… oh, don’t you dare!”

Noah padded downstairs in his bare feet, the hardwood cool against his soles. Each step brought him closer to thesounds of the domestic life he’d never dared imagine in his own space.

The sight that greeted him in his kitchen stopped him cold. Desire flooded through him so fast it left him dizzy.

Rachel stood at his counter wearing nothing but her white tank top and emerald green lace panties. Hot water spewed its guts over the stovetop. Her long hair cascaded down her back in loose waves, catching glints of sunlight like spun copper, as she rummaged through his cabinets. Morning light streamed through the kitchen windows, creating a halo effect around her silhouette. As he drew closer, he couldn’t help but admire how little fabric clung to her lush derriere, accentuating every sway of her hips.

Rachel pulled out a cast-iron skillet, found his meager supply of brown eggs, a half-eaten sharp cheese wedge in the butter compartment of the fridge, and a red-foil coffee bag held closed with a chip clip. She glared at his coffee maker as if it had personally insulted her father.

“Seriously, Noah?” she muttered, holding up an expired carton of whole milk. “This dairy died during the Yes We Can administration.” She tossed it in the trash and continued her archaeological dig through his cabinets. “You have seventeen steaks and a bushel of potatoes. Any vegetables?”

“Looking for something?” he asked, his voice still rough with sleep.

She spun around, startled, and the smile that lit her face sent heat racing through his veins. The morning light caught the constellation of freckles across her nose and cheeks, each one a tiny star he wanted to map with his lips. “So much for our breakfast in bed. I’m trying to figure out how you look that good with the contents of this refrigerator. This ancient contraption you call a coffee maker. Serious business, Noah, where is your Keurig? And more importantly, the sugar-free sweetener?”

“First answer, Keurigs are for kids. Not real coffee drinkers. And most important, there’s no substitute for sugar, sweetheart,” he said, planting a quick kiss on her mouth, tasting the mint of his toothpaste on her lips.

A red blush colored her pale cheeks, the pink spreading down her neck like watercolor on canvas. “Hmm, good morning, Mr. Bachelor Pad.”

“Lucky for you, this bachelor can make our coffee,” he said, moving closer. “And I rarely eat breakfast at home.”

“Clearly.” She held up a can of something unidentifiable. “This expired when I left Service. The first time. How do you even keep that gorgeous body alive? Do you survive purely on charm and good looks?”

“Keep admiring my chiseled chest, and this place will look like a regional food bank by sunset.”

He’d buy every spice, every vegetable to keep her here. She turned back to the machine, standing on her toes to reach the top. The motion lifted her tank top just enough to reveal a strip of nude skin at her waist, and Noah’s mouth went dry. All thoughts of his questionable grocery habits vanished.

“Watch and learn the magic of a percolated coffee,” he offered, but his feet carried him forward until he was standing directly behind her, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from her skin, to catch the scent of her hair mingling with the cooked bacon from the oven.

“I think I can figure it out,” she said, but her voice had gone breathless. She knew precisely what his proximity was doing to both of them. “Though your kitchen organization skills leave something to be desired. Who puts tuna in the same cabinet as Kitty Kibble?”

“Tuna is cat food to me. It’s rude”—he paused, unsure why he’d purchased both when Matt had assured him Rachel was coming home—“to force a full-grown man to eat tiny bits ofmeat from a can and pretend it’s a meal. But if you want to nibble on fish flakes from the same can that cat food comes in, I see your point.”

She grinned. “Do you really?”

“Rachel.” His hands found her waist, thumbs tracing the twin dimples above her panties. Her skin was like silk, warm and impossibly smooth. “Forget the coffee.”

She leaned back against him, her head finding the hollow of his shoulder. Her weight, solid and real in his arms, made something primal and protective surge through his chest. “You have to be hungry.”

“I am.” His lips found the curve of her neck, tasting the salt-sweet flavor of her skin. He loved how her skin, porcelain, contrasted to his sun-bronzed—loved the way her freckles created a map only he would learn to navigate. “But not for food.”

She turned in his arms, her hands sliding up his chest, fingertips tracing the definition of muscle earned through years of physical work. Her touch was electric, nimble fingers that seemed to know precisely where to linger, building his desire brick by brick with each calculated caress. “Noah…”

“Tell me this is real,” he said, the cool granite pressing against her back as he caged her in with his arms. “Tell me you’re not going to disappear on me again.”