Grim Shadows (Roaring Twenties #2)(75)

Lowe.

She grinned at the ceiling, squeezing her eyes shut as a silent joy washed over her, and pushed out of bed.

After a hurried trip to the bathroom, she slipped into a plover gray Habutai silk peignoir dotted with bright begonias, quickly tying the sash as she hunted the location of the noise. Kitchen. She rounded the doorway, wincing at the harsh pendant lighting reflecting off white subway tile. When her eyes adjusted, she found herself staring at a very interesting view of Lowe’s thoroughly naked backside.

Arm draped over her icebox door, he was bent over, peering inside. Long legs dusted with blond hair supported well-shaped buttocks with muscled hollows. But it was the shadowed glimpse of what hung between those legs that made her chest warm.

My God, the things he’d done to her over the last few hours . . . the things she’d done to him. She could scarcely believe any of it had happened. And now, here he still was. No dream—solid flesh. Very solid flesh. She liked the way his back rippled as he poked through jars and containers. Not much to see. Butter. Fig preserves. Blood oranges. Some cooked chicken for Number Four, who was spooling around Lowe’s feet like they were best of friends.

“What is this, do you think?” he asked the cat. “The green fuzz isn’t giving me hope. Looks vaguely meat-based.”

“Week-old deviled ham,” she warned, voice cracking with sleep. “What are you doing?”

He glanced over his shoulder and stood. A shame. She’d been enjoying that. But the slow grin he gave her made up for the loss. The long top of his sandy hair was a messy mop of loose curls limned in pale light. He pushed away a thick lock that hung over one eye and shut the icebox door.

“I’m making breakfast,” he answered, corded arms crossing his broad chest as he leaned a shoulder against the icebox.

“Naked?”

One shoulder lazily lifted and fell. “Why not?”

Indeed. Walking pornography, right in her kitchen. She drifted closer, feeling a bit like a wealthy tourist on a safari trying to get a better view of a grazing gazelle. “At three in the morning?”

“I’m famished.”

“Me, too,” she admitted.

His eyes sparkled with good humor. “All that touching and moaning exhausts a body’s resources.”

“You aren’t kidding,” she murmured, all too aware of the dull soreness between her thighs.

He swayed closer and dropped a peck on her forehead. So casual and affectionate, as if they’d been doing this for years. She caught the unique scent of his skin and breathed in deeply. Better than the lilies by her bed. Better than anything she could think of at the moment.

His appreciative gaze roamed over her dressing gown. He made a satisfied noise before scratching the back of his neck. “I washed up the dishes in your sink, by the way.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” she said, feeling mildly embarrassed.

“Someone did. Why do I get the distinct feeling that you’re unfamiliar with manual labor?”

“Because I am,” she said, prodding his toes with hers. He had the loveliest arch to his feet. “I’m not going to apologize for my family’s money. It’s not as if I sit around doing nothing. I work, after all. And I’ll have you know that I dirtied those dishes, so I’m not completely useless around the kitchen. I can make toast. And tea.”

His big toe wiggled in answer as it drifted over her foot. “And peel oranges.”

“And peel oranges,” she agreed with a smile.

“Well, together we might get somewhere, because if you can brew us up some tea and make toast, I’ll fry us up some eggs.” He glanced down at the purring ball of fur nosing his way into their toe conversation. “Eggs for three, I suppose. Or maybe we should feed him the deviled ham and see if it’ll turn him into Number Five.”

“Big talk. At the rate you two are going, you’ll be kicking me out of the covers and cuddling up with him instead.”

“Not on your life.” He grazed a barely-there finger down her hip as she passed, sending a tiny shiver racing below the silk of her robe. “I like your claws better.”

While she set a kettle on to boil and pulled down the smallest metal canister from a set of FLOUR-SUGAR-COFFEE-TEA—the one marked “coffee” was only filled with loose coins and nails—Lowe found a cast-iron skillet and struck a match to light the stove.

“I meant to say this earlier, but your burn looks much better,” she said, nodding toward his arm.

“Lucky for me, I had a skilled nurse to bandage it up properly.”

She chuckled and set two empty teacups on saucers. “It’s rather strange to spend my Friday night making breakfast with a naked man in my kitchen,” she said, spooning tea leaves into two cups as she stole a glance at his body. “Strange, but good.”

“If I wasn’t here, what would you be doing?”

“Sleeping. Or, if you take into account the events of the last week, I’d be trying to sleep at my father’s house and failing. If I had to spend one more night in that depressing old place, I might’ve gone crazy.”

“He probably doesn’t want you doting over him anyway.”

“I’m sure you’re right.” She set the tea canister back in its place on the shelf and fitted bread into both sides of an electric toaster. Then she bent to pick up Number Four, who lazily draped his front legs over her shoulder. “Have you had a chance to look at the pictograms?”