LITMIR.BIZ

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he still dreaming? He took another breath and his mouth watered at the scent of melon and coffee. Memories of the night before stirred his desire. Nope. This was definitely not a memory. It was reality.

      He frowned and squinted. Surprisingly, he’d slept through the night, something he rarely did—never if there was a woman in bed with him. He tried to lift his arm to check his watch, and found that he couldn’t. His arm was weighted down by Nicole’s shoulder. Her honey-smooth, naked, rounded shoulder.

      Then he noticed that more of her was draped across him. She was on her stomach and her face was buried in her pillow. He raised his head and admired the sexy curve of her buttocks half-hidden by a sheet. He looked further. Her legs were sprawled across his calf.

      Without allowing himself too much time to think about why he was so reluctant to move, when usually he couldn’t wait to get home after a date, he slid his leg out from under hers, turned over and pressed a kiss to the curve of her shoulder, then slipped his arm out from beneath her.

      She lifted her head and gazed at him through heavy-lidded, sleepy eyes. Then her gaze went to the window behind him. “It’s daylight,” she said, sounding surprised.

      “We slept all night,” he responded, smiling at her. “How are you doing this morning?”

      She sat up, pulling the rumpled sheet with her and pushed her tousled hair back from her face. “I’m fine,” she said on a yawn, then smiled sheepishly. “I don’t usually sleep all night, especially—”

      “With someone else in the bed?” he finished. “Me neither.”

      She looked at him thoughtfully.

      “What?” he asked, sitting up beside her and making sure the sheet covered him.

      She blinked. “Nothing. Are you hungry?”

      “Starving. What’ve you got?”

      “Not much. I rarely eat at home.”

      Ryker grinned. “Come on. Surely you have eggs.”

      “I think so.”

      “And we know you have coffee. So you stay here, and I’ll make breakfast. When I’m done, you can make the coffee in that fancy espresso machine of yours.”

      “I thought you said you didn’t cook.”

      “I said I didn’t cook much.” He put a finger against her mouth. “Just say thank you. You’ve cooked for me practically every night for almost a year. Let me return the favor.”

      “Thank you,” she said against his finger. He leaned over and gave her a quick kiss, then sat up and grabbed his briefs and jeans and headed for the bathroom.

      Once Ryker had gone into the kitchen, Nicole put her hands over her mouth and squealed silently.

      What had she done? In the year since the break-in, she hadn’t had one date. Not one. She hadn’t even thought about dating. Certainly hadn’t missed it. She’d been too busy making a reputation for herself as a chef all over again at a new restaurant.

      Now, suddenly, she’d fallen into bed with a man—a cop—whose only interest in her was that she’d managed to survive his faceless killer.

      What was the matter with her? In the first place, she never did that. Never.

      Certainly not with a stranger.

      Leaning back against the headboard and pulling the sheet up over her, Nicole indulged in a bit of morning-after basking. Last night she’d slept better than she had in over a year. Maybe in forever. Her mother’s job as a night cleaning woman in Baton Rouge hadn’t contributed to sleeping well. Her hours had been from 10:00 p.m. to 8:00 a.m. while she left her young daughter alone on the couch that they made into a bed in their room in a run-down rooming house.

      Was it bizarre that the man who was trying to convince her that her life was in danger was the same man who made her feel safer than she’d ever felt before in her life?

      Most definitely.

      Nicole heard pans rattling in the kitchen. She couldn’t imagine what Ryker was cooking up out of her sparsely stocked refrigerator. She hoped the eggs weren’t too old. She couldn’t remember when she’d bought them.

      Jumping up, she ran to the bathroom and washed and brushed her teeth, then pulled on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt that read Kiss the Chef. Just as she was running a comb through her hair, she heard Ryker.

      “Come on and make the coffee,” he called.

      “Whatever you found to cook, it smells wonderful,” she said as she came into the kitchen and headed for the espresso machine. By the time she had the mugs filled, the plates were on the table. “I assume the eggs were okay?”

      “I floated them in water. They sank.” He leaned forward and kissed her, grinning like the proverbial Cheshire Cat.

      “What?” she asked as her heart gave a little leap. He was even more handsome this morning. His hair, damp from his shower, looked darker, which somehow made his eyes look bluer.

      “Just following instructions,” he said, planting a soft kiss on her nose, then looking down at the front of her T-shirt. He gently traced the letters.

      “Oh, that.” She shivered and her cheeks flamed as his fingertips slid across her breasts. She set a mug down near his plate, then sat. “I never really thought about what it says. What kind of eggs are these?”

      “My special scrambled eggs. The only bread I found was green, and I didn’t think green toast and eggs sounded good, so eggs is all you get.”

      “That’s fine.” She picked up a fork and tasted the dish. The eggs were fluffy and creamy, with a hint of something savory. “They’re amazing,” she remarked.

      “You don’t have to sound so surprised,” he said with a laugh. “Although I have to admit, this is pretty much the extent of my cooking skills. Well, this and sausage gumbo.”

      “You can make gumbo? That’s quite a talent.”

      “My mother taught me how to make a perfect roux, and as anyone in Louisiana knows—”

      “You can’t have a good gumbo without a good roux,” Nicole finished, smiling. “What’s in here that makes them so creamy? I know there’s no cream in the refrigerator.”

      Ryker shook his head as he shoveled forkfuls of eggs down and chased them with coffee. “Mayonnaise.”

      “Mayonnaise.” She’d never thought about mixing mayonnaise and eggs, although they obviously complemented each other perfectly. “And the savory flavor?”

      “Onions. I had to use dried minced onions. You really don’t keep much food around, for a chef.”

      Nicole’s mouth was full, so she had to swallow and drink some coffee before she could answer. “I told you. It’s a lot of trouble to cook for one person,” she said, wiping her mouth on a sheet of paper towel Ryker had folded for a napkin.

      “Tell me about it.”

      “But I am totally stealing your scrambled egg recipe,” she teased.

      “No, you’re not. That’s my copyrighted recipe. Not unless you call it Eggs Delancey.”

      “How about Ryker’s Amazing Morning-After Breakfast?” she teased.

      “That’s a mouthful.”

      She picked up her plate and stood at the very instant he did the same thing. They nearly collided.

      Ryker slid his plate under hers and took them both. “I’ve got the dishes.” He leaned over and kissed her again. As before, it started as a tease, a little peck on the lips, but she leaned forward, too, and the simple little kiss turned into much more.

      Ryker put his hand holding the mug around

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