Free Whose Bed Is It Anyway? by Natalie Anderson Page A

hadn’t been kidding when she’d said they’d already sent it right over.
    She grabbed the case and darted back into the bathroom, changing into one of her favourite floral dresses. Nice-fitting clothes were as good as iron armour. She brushed her hair and lifted her chin at her reflection. She could face him and not flush. No problem.
    But he wasn’t in the bedroom when she walked out into it. She went downstairs, listening hard but hearing nothing. She sniffed, slightly miffed that he’d gone. Then she sniffed again. She could smell something amazing . She got to the lower floor and stopped and stared. He’d set up some kind of camp kitchen down in the stripped-back, barren room? And even better, he’d cooked up something mouth-watering—that he was now eating.
    He glanced at her and swallowed his mouthful with a muffled choking sound. ‘I like those clothes much better.’ He breathed in deep.
    â€˜I’m supposed to be flattered?’ She locked into safe sarcastic mode.
    â€˜If you want my delicious breakfast, yes.’ He retaliated by zooming back to flirt zone. And smiling.
    Which was so brutally unfair of him.
    â€˜Then I’m flattered.’ She bestowed a saccharine smile on him. ‘Thank you, kind sir.’ It wasn’t a total lie; she was a little pleased—this dress had been one of the first she’d designed herself when she’d been playing about. But she wasn’t letting him win any real points.
    He continued to smile right back at her—his gaze warm and lingering. She clamped down on the warmth working its way through her. Did he really think he could charm them through this embarrassment?
    â€˜I’m sorry about before,’ he said easily, clearly thinking exactly that. ‘Maybe it was inevitable with two single people staying in such close quarters. It needed to happen. But now we’ve broken that tension, right?’
    Oh, it so hadn’t needed to happen. And as for breaking the tension? It had left her yearning for more. Hell, her nerves were screaming at her to jump him this second. As far as she was concerned, the tension was way worse. ‘Yeah, well, guess we’re just two little animals who can’t resist basic instinct.’
    â€˜But we can. We just have.’
    And they’d continue to? No giving in to the searing temptation? ‘Of course,’ she replied through gritted teeth.
    James turned back to the small grill and took another pace away from her to get some very necessary space for the gas ring. And himself. But she stepped after him again, wide-eyed at the prep work he’d done yesterday before she’d got home.
    â€˜You didn’t want to go to your diner?’ she muttered.
    He gave her a feeble grin. He’d go to the diner in a heartbeat. But he knew she wouldn’t. A coffee wasn’t enough. It was economics—he’d already known it before her confession of last night. He cracked an egg into the pan. ‘I like a home-cooked breakfast.’
    Hard boiled, over easy, sunny side up, runny yolk... He liked it all ways. Lots of ways. Just lots of it. Ugh. He winced at himself and the deep, single, smutty groove his mind was stuck in.
    Treat her like the sister he’d never had . That was the only way to get through. He’d think of her as a sister. Put her firmly in the ‘untouchable’ basket. She needed a break away and apparently had nowhere else to go. George had said she’d had a hard time. She might make herself out to be a tough nut, but James wasn’t messing round with her. And he did only ever mess about.
    Except she’d gotten him so hot he’d almost come without even penetrating her. It was pathetic. No way could he have lasted even a few seconds more. He’d been rough, ready to slam inside her the second he’d touched her, and would have come the next second if they’d kept kissing. Worse than a youth