Coming Home(72)

“Huh,” Danny said, finishing his toast. “I wonder if people wait that long because they want to be on TV or if the shit they make is that good.”

“The shit is that good,” she said confidently, and Danny chuckled.

“What if you go and it isn’t? Are you ready for that level of disappointment?”

Leah rested her head back on the pillow as she turned to look at him. “I don’t mind a little disappointment now and then. It just means you’ve got high standards. I’d rather shoot high and be disappointed sometimes than just live in the middle with the illusion of being satisfied.”

Danny’s smile fell as he continued looking at her. It wasn’t the first time she’d done that: said something endearingly comical, only to follow it up with something so profound, it made him feel like the world had momentarily stopped while he absorbed her words.

She reached up then, placing her hand on his cheek as she ran her thumb over his forehead. “You’ve got a welt now,” she said softly.

He swallowed as a current of warmth trickled down his body, like a string of dominos that had been set off by the touch of her fingers.

Her eyes dropped to his mouth for just a moment before they flitted back up, and her hand slipped from his face as she sat up quickly. “Do you want more toast?” she asked, grabbing the empty plate between them and sliding off the bed.

“No, thank you,” he managed, and she nodded before she turned and headed out of his room.

Danny fell back onto the bed, blinking up at the ceiling as he exhaled the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

Jesus Christ, he wanted to kiss her again.

When they’d kissed outside The Rabbit Hole—a memory that still made his pulse spike whenever he thought of it—Leah had been drunk. And he was almost positive he had kissed her last night, but of course, he had been drunk.

He wanted to kiss her when they were both sober.

But he couldn’t take liberties like that, not while he still harbored secrets. Right now she needed to be the one calling the shots. She needed to set the tone, dictate the pace. He couldn’t risk screwing up right now. Not when he knew how badly he’d be screwing things up in the future.

Danny closed his eyes and exhaled heavily, clasping both hands behind his head before he opened them.

“Holy f*ck,” he said just as Leah entered his room, and she turned her head, following his line of sight. As soon as her eyes fell on the screen, she smiled.

“Told you,” she said, coming back to the bed. “Amazing, right?”

“That’s a cake?” he said, and she nodded.

“Yup. And every part of that is edible.”

“No f*cking way,” he said, staring in amazement at the life-sized roulette table, complete with a functioning wheel. “You can eat the numbers? And the chips?”

“They’re fondant,” she said, moving to lie down beside him. “It’s like a malleable frosting. You can make it any color you want, sculpt with it.” She rolled onto her side, facing him with a sigh. “I should have been a baker.”

He smiled as he turned toward her, lying on his side as he mirrored her position, and his eye was immediately drawn to the delicate silhouette of her profile—her neck curving into her shoulder, her waist tapering into the swell of her hip.

It was one of the most sensual things he’d ever seen.

Danny brought his eyes back to her face, and she smiled softly. “Do you feel better?”

“I do,” he said. “I can’t believe I do, but I do.”