Celt. (Den of Mercenaries #2)(29)

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It was the warmth of the sun beaming down on her that woke Amber the next morning. Lifting her head, she peeked over to the other side of the bed, but it was vacant, and as she laid her hand where she vaguely remembered Kyrnon having been the night before, she found his spot to be cold.

As she became more aware, sitting up and dragging the sheet with her to shield her nudity, it didn’t take her too long to figure out where Kyrnon had gone. She could hear pans rattling as he moved around in the kitchen, and if she wasn’t mistaken, that heavenly aroma that was wafting out of there was the smell of bacon.

Amber was also glad that she wasn’t suffering from a dull headache from the few shots she’d had the night before. Usually, she felt something the morning after having drank anything.

But then again, she also might not have been feeling effects because she had sweated out what little whiskey she’d had. She wasn’t even sure how long they had spent out on his couch, then down on his floor.

Whether she wanted to or not, remembering the way his hands felt on her made her breath catch.

Figuring it would be best not to hide out in his bedroom, she slipped out of his bed, heading over to the walk-in closet she had seen him enter the night before.

There weren’t many suits that lined the walls, his wardrobe made up of mostly jeans and tees. One wall was even dedicated to strictly boots, pairs that looked like they were used for combat as opposed to fashion. Also, she happened to find a drawer full of sweatpants.

Of course she’d known that he was full of it when he told her he had nothing for her to wear the night before, but it was different seeing the evidence of that lie.

Grabbing a pair, she pulled them on, pulling the strings at the waistband to tighten them on her. And finally, grabbing one of the hanging T-shirts, she went in search of his bathroom.

It didn’t take her long to freshen up — the beauty of carrying travel-sized items in her satchel at all times since she worked a lot of odd hours — then she was off to the kitchen where she found Kyrnon standing at the stove with a pair of sleep-pants hanging low on his waist as he fried bacon in a large cast iron skillet.

Before now, she hadn’t given much thought to the idea of his looks still affecting her. It wasn’t like she hadn’t gotten an up close and personal view of him the night before, but it was just the way he stood there so effortlessly—hair in disarray and nothing to protect his chest from popping grease — she found herself smiling all over again.

She felt lucky.

Climbing up onto one of the bar stools, she rested her elbows on the island and watched him work, tracing the faint scars that decorated his back with her eyes. She had seen the ones on his chest quite clearly, but she didn’t recall seeing these.

These looked a little more deliberate, as though someone had inflicted them on him.

As he finished removing the last few strips of bacon from the pan, turning the stove off, he moved in search of a plate. He seemed so focused on his task that she wondered if he even knew she was there, watching him. It wasn’t like she had announced her presence, but she got an answer to that when he finally plated the strips and set them down in front of her, along with a glass of orange juice.

Coming around the island, he briefly paused at her side, pressing a lingering kiss to the delicate skin just below her ear and whispered, “Morning, lovie.”

Yeah … she was putty.

It wasn’t like she hadn’t grown up around varying accents her whole life, but there was something about the way Kyrnon spoke that made her wonder whether she would just melt right through the floor whenever he said anything.

“Morning,” she said watching him circle back round to pour her a cup of coffee. She found she liked him in the morning.

When he had the mug sitting in front of her, he asked, “Did you have a good night?”

One of the best nights of her life if she was being honest, but she simply said, “I did.”

He was about to say something else, when the strong vibrations coming from his pocket stole his attention. She didn’t know what kind of settings he had on his phone, but she didn’t think she had ever heard any that loud.

His gaze on his phone, he said, “I need to take this. Give me a moment.”

Kyrnon stepped off to the side as she remained at the island, finishing her breakfast. She was about done when he rejoined her.

“I have an errand to run, boss’ orders.”

“That’s fine.”

She needed to get going anyway. He could drop her off at home, and maybe after she pulled herself together, she could get some more work done.

It took her a moment to realize Kyrnon hadn’t responded, but when she did, turning her head to look at him, she found he was closer than before.

His expression turned softer as he cupped her face, his thumb stroking over her cheek. “How’s about a kiss?”

It was never just simply a kiss with Kyrnon. No, he had to take over her every thought, consume her mouth like he was trying to take everything from her. The unyielding press of his lips, the lazy way in which he moved his tongue to tangle with hers, and finally just the slightest bite of pain as he nipped her bottom lip.

Putty.

“Three days,” he said after drawing back. “Your place.”

It was a date.





Chapter Eight