Crazy (The Gibson Boys #4)(53)

I laugh at her frustration—because, fuck, I get it—winking as I head to the refrigerator.





Twenty





Dylan



The unexpected charm of this man is on full display as he maneuvers around the kitchen with ease. “For someone who doesn’t ever cook, you sure know your way around the kitchen.”

“It’s never been fun to cook for one.”

“But it is for two?”

He lifts from checking on the potatoes, gazing through the oven window as if he’s admiring newborns in the nursery. When his blue eyes land back on me, my hands press a little harder onto the counter to steady myself.

That level of sexy should be outlawed.

The corners of his lips shoot up. “It is for you.”

The kitchen suddenly feels like a hot August day with him standing so close. I look away, directing my attention back to the salad. The blade of the knife slices through the tomato, cracking down on the cutting board.

“Careful,” he says, coming around me. “I just sharpened the knives.”

He sets a cutting board next to mine and starts chopping the onions. I think it’s the first true glimpse of how comfortable we’ve become in our living situation. I don’t know if I should be worried or appreciate it by living in the moment. The latter is feeling like a favorite T-shirt right about now, so I go with what feels good.

Peck Ward feels good. Every brush of his arm against mine, the way his laughter tickles my ear, and the heat that exudes between us is heightened. I finish dicing the tomato and take a step back, leaning against the opposite counter to get a better look at him. From that ass to those biceps and broad shoulders, he knows how to get attention without even trying.

“What are you doing, Dylan?”

My eyes shoot up to find his on me. “Just … thinking.”

“What are you thinking about?”

Your body.

“I … um …” I laugh. “Thinking about how that kiwifruit makes things soft.”

“Really?” He pretends to consider that. “I don’t know that I’d go with soft.”

“That’s true. Nobody likes soft meat.”

His smirk digs deeper as he sets the knife down. “How do you like your meat, Dylan?”

I have no idea if we’re still talking about actual meat or not, but I’m willing to play this game. If for no other reason than to see his face when he wears the look like he wants to eat me.

I gulp. “Hearty.”

He chuckles.

“Or aged to perfection,” I offer.

“Interesting choice of words.”

“What word do you prefer?” I ask. “To describe meat, of course.”

He sticks his tongue in the side of his cheek. He’s such an insane mix of playful and sexy that I don’t know which to focus on. My cheeks ache from smiling, but my thighs burn from desire.

“I’d say … hand-rubbed,” he says.

“Well done.”

“What? My comeback or that’s how you like your meat too?”

We laugh together, the sound filling the room.

He plants both palms on the counter behind him and gives it a shove. The momentum sends him across the kitchen toward me.

I can’t look away as he gets closer. My heart thumps in my chest, sending a flow of blood over my ears that makes me dizzy.

He stops in front of me and peers down. The playfulness is still there, but it’s overshadowed by the heat in his eyes.

I want him even though it goes against everything I know is right for me. He’s in love with someone else, and I’m likely just a rebound of sorts who’s being used as a tool to the nth degree. And when it doesn’t work, he can eject me out of here like yesterday’s trash.

But right now, looking up into those gorgeous eyes of his, I just. Don’t. Care. I’ll deal with it later.

“You standing this close to me isn’t fair,” I tell him.

“Why?”

His voice is a dead giveaway to the fact that he wants to see if there’s any fire under all this smoke billowing between us.

“Because I want to touch you, and you know that.”

It takes a few seconds for that to register. When it does, I know.

He adjusts his weight, widening his stance to encapsulate both of my feet. He surrounds me with his wide frame as a grin touches his lips.

“Since when do you not do what you want?” he teases.

“I can touch?” I wink, making that smirk of his grow.

“You most definitely can touch.”

Letting my hands land on his abs, I rub around and then dip under his shirt. It wasn’t the kitchen that’s been bringing the heat. His warm skins heats mine, and my breathing quickens.

“Why are you so irresistible?” I breathe the words out because I’m a hot mess of a turned-on and insatiable.

It’s been a long, long time since I’ve felt like this.

His arms wrap around me. He holds me tight against him, his chest rising and falling as wildly as mine.

His body is hard and steady, and I could stay all day with my cheek pressed against his chest. He leans down, his lips fluttering against my ear.

“I could ask you the same the question,” he says. “But why bother with small talk when I can show you.”