Page 60 of Nightmare’s Playground

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

I... “I don’t know.”

His arm tightened around me. “Then think about it. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

Hours later, I stood under the spray of my shower until the hot water ran out and my fingers were pruned.

I was dragging my feet and I knew it.

Not because I didn’t want to face him. Because I did, it was just that I’d never done this before–faced a man after he'd seen me naked. I didn’t know what to expect, and it was kind of freaking me out.

Pull it together, Joy.

Right.

Grabbing a towel off the counter, I dried off, pulled on a fitted tee and a pair of panties, and padded barefoot down the hall.

The smell hit me first.

Butter.

Was he cooking?

My belly rumbled hoping that was the case.

Turning the corner into the kitchen, I had my answer. Jaxon Lewis was standing at my stove in nothing but a pair of jeans that were hanging off his hips. No shirt. No hat. Just him and his tattoos on full display, from the massive skull face on his back to the ink peeking out above the waistband riding low on his hips.

God he was so sexy.

And he was cooking.

My heart did a stupid little flip.

I crossed the room and slid up beside him, and without even looking, he lifted his arm and tucked me into his side.

“What are you making?”

“Scrambled eggs.”

I looked in the pan.

He was in fact making eggs.

In my kitchen.

With the fancy copper pan Cleo gave me for my birthday that I’d never once taken out of the cabinet.

“You know I’m the professional chef here, right?” I said, poking him in the ribs.

He grunted and tipped his chin toward the fridge. “You got milk in there that expired three weeks ago, Sweets.”

I wrinkled my nose.

Okay, so maybe I didn’t cook up here that often. I spent twelve hours a day in a kitchen. Sue me if the last thing I wanted to do when I got home was turn on another stove.

A low whine came from the floor, and I looked down. Murphy had scooted closer and was leaning his big head against Jax’s leg, giving him the eyes. He was really laying it on thick.

“Don’t fall for it,” I said, scratching behind his ears. “He’s on a diet.”