PhoenixKiss by Lyric James Read Free Book Online

freaking
starving. She hadn’t had a chance to eat dinner before she broke in… visited Jordan’s home tonight.
    About to open the door, she stopped herself and looked at
the green light flashing on the alarm panel. She hoped it meant the alarm
system was off. Surely he wouldn’t lock her in the room. Would he?
    She grasped the doorknob and pulled, relieved a horn didn’t
start blaring. She vaguely remembered where the kitchen was even though she’d
bypassed sightseeing through his home when she’d broken in. The one thing on
her mind had been finding his bedroom. She’d told herself she’d explore later.
But right now, the monster growling in her stomach took precedent. The only
room she wanted to explore was the room with the food.
    When she found Jordan, she stopped cold and stared.
Cerulean-blue paint covered the walls of the huge kitchen and polished
cherry-wood cabinets lined three sides. Above the large farmhouse sink was a
backsplash of glass tiles.
    The floors were a light wooden-gold tone that gleamed, and a
stainless steel double refrigerator, regular oven, confectioner’s oven and
microwave took up one wall. An octagon-shaped island sat in the center with a
black granite top. The man loved granite. A tall crystal vase was in the
center, bursting with ice-blue hydrangeas and white roses.
    What surprised her most, though, was Jordan. In one hand he
held a glass of red wine. In the other, he was wearing one of those baking
mittens and pulling a pan out of the oven.
    She swooped in and stood beside him. “Are those cinnamon
rolls?”
    He turned to look at her. “Yes.”
    “Oh my goodness, they smell divine.”
    And they were her absolute favorite dessert.
    Unlike Jordan, from what she could tell from the items that
still littered the countertop, she didn’t make hers from scratch. All she did
was make a quick run to the grocery store to find the refrigerated section and
the Pillsbury Doughboy.
    Jordan set the round pan on a cooling rack and turned the
oven off.
    She moved to sniff the rolls and closed her eyes in
anticipation of savoring one in her mouth.
    Jordan sagged against the island and sipped his wine, with
one arm hugging his middle, and watched her as she moved from the pan of
cinnamon rolls to the stove.
    She lifted the pot and grinned like an idiot. “I think I’ll
move in here with you,” she jokingly said, glancing over her shoulder.
    “Are you trying to say the way to a woman’s heart is through
her stomach? I thought that was just men.”
    Beside the pot on the stove was a utensil holder. Layla
picked up a fork, twirled it around and pulled out a steaming mouthful of
spaghetti. She held her other palm under the fork, blew on the food and put it
in her mouth.
    After she chewed, she said, “No. That’s just me. Most women
like a man who buys her purses and shoes, jewelry. Me, cook me a meal and
you’ll have to push me away. That was so good, by the way. Did you make the
sauce from scratch too?”
    “Yes. It’s an old family recipe. I take it you’re hungry.”
    Why she felt so at home, she didn’t know. She began to open
drawers and cupboards until she found a plate. When she turned around, he was
standing so close she could still smell the soap from their shower several
hours ago.
    He reached for it. “Allow me.”
    She quirked a brow but gave him the plate.
    He nodded to the barstools on the other side of the island.
“Have a seat.”
    Layla couldn’t help but watch him. He was so comfortable in
this space, as if it were an extension of who he was. And damn if he didn’t
look sexy. Because he’d only put on the pajama bottoms, his muscular chest
teased her with every move he made.
    She bent over the counter. No shoes either. He even had the
nerve to have sexy feet. Why didn’t he have one flaw? A bunion on his big toe.
A huge, grotesque boil on his back . Something .
    Before long, she had a steaming plate of spaghetti and a
cool glass of white wine sitting in front of her.