Grave Secrets_A Manhunters Novel by Skye Jordan & Joan Swan

Author:Skye Jordan & Joan Swan [Jordan, Skye & Swan, Joan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Cygnet Books
Published: 2018-05-01T16:00:00+00:00

10

The smell of something delicious finally pulled Savannah from Ian’s bed.

They’d made love twice more before their growling stomachs sent Ian over to Savannah’s side of the duplex to raid her fridge. Now, at midnight, he was in the kitchen cooking something to eat.

Savannah stood, picked up one of Ian’s T-shirts from a folded pile of laundry and slipped it over her head. She wandered through the living room, noting the blankets and pillows on his couch, and smiled. Neither one of them would be using those tonight, but she appreciated his offer to sleep on the couch early on.

Now, he stood at the stove in his thermal shirt and jeans. His shoulders were wide, their corded muscle stretching the fabric. A sigh slipped out of her as she thought back over the last few hours, a wild whirlwind of lust, sweetness, passion, intensity, and release. More than she’d ever imagined and something she was fully aware might never happen again. Even if she hated the thought of this being a one-time event, she had to admit it made a lot of sense in her situation.

She might as well get as much of him as he’d give while she was here.

Savannah came up behind him and slid her arms around his waist, flattening her hands on his taut abs.

“Hey there.” He slid a hand over her forearm and smiled over his shoulder. “I thought I was going to have to wake you up to eat.”

“It smells heavenly. What are you making?”

“French toast.”

“Mmmm, one of Jamison’s favorites.”

“I hope it’s one of yours too.”

She released his waist and stepped up beside him at the stove. “It is.”

He set down the spatula and turned, pulling her toward him by the waist. His smile still made tingles of excitement skitter over her skin. “With butter and syrup, I hope. I stole those too.”

She laughed. “Did you leave me anything?”

He lowered his head and skimmed the tip of his nose down the length of hers, murmuring, “Maybe,” before he kissed her. A slow, sweet press of his lips that lingered until Savannah thought they might be putting food on hold again.

But the sizzle of the pan broke the trance, and Ian quickly saved the French toast. “Whoa, that was close.”

He pulled a plate warming in the oven and added the toast to a ridiculous pile of eight slices.

“Who in the heck are you cooking for?”

“Me, mostly,” he admitted with a grin. “I figured you for about two pieces.” He leaned over and kissed her again. “You helped me work up an appetite.”

When he said things like that, she got all giddy inside. Being with him created a constant inner battle between hope and reality.

After buttering the toast, he picked up the plate and the syrup and set them on the table in the kitchen. He’d already moved the file folder to the windowsill and put out forks, knives, and—

“Is that my orange juice?” she asked.

He gave her an um-yeah look. “I promise to make a store run tomorrow and replace everything.

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