Once Broken: The Remington Hart Series, Book One by H. Anne Henry

Author:H. Anne Henry [Henry, H. Anne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: H. Anne Henry
Published: 2013-10-23T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 8

The afternoon sun was peeking in through the gaps in my bedroom drapes when I woke. I stirred, but felt an unfamiliar weight on my hip. There was warmth against my back. Slow and steady breathing near my ear.

Casey.

Dear, sweet man. I had half expected him to sneak away while I slept. I suppose I underestimated him.

Our morning together came flooding back into my sleep-hazy brain and I smiled. I had forgotten what it felt like to awake sated and pleasantly achy.

I hoped never to forget again.

The sunny afternoon beckoned me to bask in it like a contented cat, so I slipped out of bed and left Casey to continue sleeping.

I wrapped myself in my fuzzy green robe and went barefooted to the kitchen. In the middle of the day, the apartment building was quiet. It almost felt like Casey and I were the only two people in Dove Creek.

Until my phone rang and shot me back into reality.

It was my mother calling, and I realized that I hadn’t called her that morning like I had promised. I had been distracted, to say the least. Waiting until the phone quit ringing, I sent her an apologetic text message that told her I was tied up and I’d call her later. I considered for a mouth-watering moment what it might be like to actually be tied up by Casey.

I put on a pot of coffee and got to finish doing so this time. Of course, I wouldn’t have complained if Casey interrupted me again.

With a hot cup of coffee in hand, I started cooking some breakfast. Regardless of the hour, it was like morning to me.

Since I live alone, I don’t cook often because of the inconvenience. I enjoy making breakfast, though, and it felt nice to have someone else around to cook for. Grabbing eggs, sausage, cheese, and a few veggies out of the fridge, I went to work chopping and browning. Just as I began to turn the ingredients into omelets, Casey found his way to the kitchen.

He had on nothing but the jeans he had worn into my bedroom that morning. They were riding low on his hips and I dropped the spatula as my eyes raked over him.

“Smells good, darlin’.”

“Almost done,” I said, recovering the utensil. “The coffee is fresh. Help yourself.”

My breath caught in my throat as his hands slipped around my waist instead of a mug. From behind me, he buried his face in my neck and trailed kisses up to my earlobe. I nearly dropped the spatula again as my limbs went weak and a lustful shiver shook through me.

“I meant help yourself to the coffee,” I breathed.

Casey chuckled against my ear, a low and seductive sound that made me tingle in response. His hands moved to my hips and he pulled me against him. I let my head fall back against his chest. The eggs were starting to burn, but I couldn’t bring myself to care.

“You let me sleep,” he said.

It wasn’t an accusation, more of a question.

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