Well… it seems I may have found what may be a genuine soul, and the thought of leaving that in eight days is already sitting heavy with me. Sitting heavier is the fact that I have no clue if he feels anything remotely near what I feel, and worse yet… maybe my feelings are seemingly strong because I’m rebounding off David and the way he jilted me.
Tiny bubbles rise up from the pancakes, spurring me into action. I grab the spatula and slide it deftly under the first one.
“Jesus Christ, Andrea… are you trying to give me a heart attack first thing in the morning?” Wyatt barks at me from behind.
I yelp and jerk upward, causing the pancake to flip up and right off the back of the griddle, where it lands with a splat on the counter.
Turning to Wyatt with the spatula in one hand and my other slapped over my chest, I gasp, “Oh my God. You gave me a heart attack sneaking up behind me like that.”
Wyatt stands there in a pair of pajama bottoms made of blue cotton, his hair sticking up all around his head and his eyes roving over me. His gaze finally comes to meet mine and his eyes are sleepy… yet totally hot with lust.
He prowls toward me, again raking his eyes from head to toe.
“What’s all this?” he says as he waves his hand up and down, pointing at my body.
I look down, and then back up with a sly grin. “Oh, this?” I ask coyly as I twirl around once in front of him. “I’m making naked pancakes for you.”
He grins and grabs ahold of my waist, pulling me in tight to him. I can feel his erection pushing up against my stomach. His face goes into the crook of my neck and he murmurs, “Naked pancakes, huh? Never had those before.”
Scraping his teeth along my neck, I giggle and wrap my arms around him, the spatula still in my grip. “It was supposed to be surprise. Now go get back in bed so I can bring them to you.”
“No fucking way,” he growls, and then pulls back to look at me with a grin. “I’m too hungry to wait. Need something right now.”
Before I can even comprehend what’s going on, he spins me around, latches an arm around my stomach, and pulls me back tight to him. His hand shoots out, grabs the syrup I had previously pulled out, and turns it upside down. A hard flex of his hand on the bottle and he squirts syrup on my chest, right in the center, moving it to the right to cover one of my breasts.
“What the hell—?” I yelp as the spatula clatters to the floor from my hand, but then Wyatt spins me again.
One of his hands goes around my back, the other to my hair, and he tugs hard on it so I bow backward, thrusting my breasts up. His head bends, his tongue starts working on the syrup, and in two swipes, he has a nipple in his mouth.
My hands go to his hair, and I give a purr of contentment while he laps at me. This is what I want to wake up to every morning. Wyatt licks, sucks, and bites at my sticky skin. It makes me ache… My skin tingles and my blood heats so hot, I swear I can smell it burning.
Burning?
Wait… what?
“Oh shit,” I yell out as the acrid smell of burnt pancakes penetrates the fog of lust Wyatt put me in. I shove out of his arms, turn to the griddle, and slap the switch off. Thick smoke filters up into the air, and I wave my hand through it to help it dissipate.
“First attempt at naked pancakes,” Wyatt says sadly as he looks at the smoking mess. “Epic fail.”
I turn to him with my mouth open. He looks so serious… so forlorn. I start to say something… a commiseration maybe, but he starts snickering. Then he bends over and starts laughing.
“Damn, baby… I thought for a moment you were going up in flames in my arms,” he chortles. “Turns out it was just burned pancakes. I’m losing my touch.”
Spontaneous giggles pour out of my own mouth and I slap him on the shoulder. “Great job. You made me burn our breakfast.”
Wyatt straightens and pulls me back in his arms, wrapping his arms loosely around my waist. Grinning down at me, he says, “Big, bad, FBI agent Somerville… who would have known… she’s a giggler.”
I suck in a breath and hitch my shoulders back, leveling my most stern look at him. “I most certainly do not giggle.”
But then I break down in a fit of hilarity again when Wyatt snorts at me.
Giving me a quick kiss and skimming his hands up my ribs, he murmurs, “Why don’t you go get cleaned up and I’ll take you out to breakfast? I’ll clean up this mess.”
I stare at him a moment. He stares back at me with the happiest, most carefree look on his face. It makes him look boyish and charming, and I feel my heart sigh. “Okay. Sounds like a deal.”
One more soft kiss, then he’s turning me around, slapping me on my naked butt, and pushing me back toward the bedroom. When I get to the hallway entrance, I sneak a peek back over my shoulder. He’s scooping up pancakes from the griddle and throwing them in the garbage. The early morning sunlight is pouring in through the window, lighting up his golden-brown skin and making the natural highlights in his hair sparkle.
I think about the man that was Raze Hawkins.
Cold, hard, detached. Prostitution peddler and lap dog to a slave trader. I’m amazed that someone as easygoing and down to earth as Wyatt was able to pull off that role. When I first met him as “Raze,” I had no clue he was in character. I just assumed that was Wyatt’s natural personality.
As I came to know him over the course of the operation, it started to become clear to me that he was putting on just as much of a performance as I was. The memory that guts me… the one that I think forged a personal connection between us, was that night in Simon’s office when Lance forced me on Wyatt.