Another Mazzy Monday by Savannah Young, Sierra Avalon Read Free Book Online Page A

should cook breakfast for Drew as well. Another thing we never really discussed. And it’s not like I actually heard him come home last night. No engine. No car door. No bedroom door. No bathroom noises. Nothing. The place was absolutely silent. I didn’t even hear a cricket.
    My gut instinct tells me that he stayed somewhere else all night so I opt to make an omelet for one. I gather mushrooms, red peppers, onions and fresh tomatoes and set about getting the veggies sliced and diced.
    Just as I’m in the midst of preparing my mushrooms a young guy with a backpack waltzes into the kitchen.
    And he’s not Drew.
    I freeze with fear and try to remember if I locked the front door before I went to sleep last night. I’m glad that I have a sharp object in my hand even if it is just a paring knife.
    To my surprise the young guy drops his backpack on the floor next to him and stares at me for a few moments. It’s almost like he recognizes me, even though I have no idea who he is.
    “What are you doing here?” he asks.
    “I think it’s obvious that I’m making an omelet,” I fire back.
    He smirks. “I guess a better question is why you have a key to my house and why are you making me breakfast.”
    His sparkling green eyes seem to be full of humor and it’s really pissing me off. He’s acting like he owns the place and I’m some sort of intruder when I’m the one who belongs here.
    “I’m making an omelet for one and you’re not the one. And I live here for your information. What are you doing here?”
    He laughs at me. A big hearty laugh. “You live here? With my brother, Andrew?”
    I’ve never heard anyone call him Andrew before. I guess it makes sense, but I never even thought about it.
    When the guy has the audacity to plop down on a stool right across the counter from where I’m cooking I have to restrain myself from saying something really nasty. Besides I can’t help but notice how attractive he is when he’s not running off at the mouth. He looks about my age, early twenties, and he’s rugged looking and sexy as hell. He’s definitely a bad boy. If I had to guess I’d say he rode out here on a motorcycle.
    I hold up my hand so he can see the diamond ring on my finger. “Drew and I are engaged.”
    “Sure you are.” He slips out of the black leather jacket he’s wearing and tosses it onto the stool next to him.
    The T-shirt he’s wearing underneath is tight against his large, muscular chest. The guy is extremely well built, but he also seems to realize how attractive he is. There is nothing subtle about him at all. He’s practically oozing testosterone. 
    “You seem to be making yourself at home, but you still haven’t told me who you are or what you’re doing here.”
    “You’re right,” he says, but makes no effort to provide me with any additional information. “Maybe we can talk over breakfast. I love omelets, by the way, and you look like you know your way around a kitchen.”
    “My dad was a chef,” I admit. “If you tell me who you are and why you’re here, since you act like you belong here, I may consider making you breakfast.”
    “Austin Graham. I do belong here. I’ve got a key and everything.” He removes a key from the pocket of his tight-fitting black jeans and holds it up for me to see. “My family owns this place.”
    “You’re Drew’s brother?” I look him up and down in an effort to see even the slightest family resemblance. There isn’t much of one. Drew is highbrow in every way. Everything about him is refined and perfect. Austin is rough around every edge imaginable. He could be the poster child for a bad boy biker club.
    “Guilty as charged,” he says as he slides from the stool and makes his way over to the refrigerator. I can’t help notice how well he fills out those black jeans of his.
    Then to my utter horror he removes a milk carton from the fridge, opens it, and guzzles milk straight from the carton.
    “What do you think you’re doing?”