Bruno comes charging in just as I place the dish on the table. Eli follows, and we lock eyes. The intensity behind them has my entire body burning with desire.
“Morning,” he greets, carrying a stack of wood in his arms. “Did you…cook?” He sniffs, then grins.
“Yes.” I quickly clear my dry throat. “Well, I tried.”
He blinks, then chuckles. “Smells good.”
“Hopefully, it’s edible. I wanted to make breakfast to repay you.”
Eli walks in farther and goes to the living room, then drops the wood by the fireplace. He pulls off his gloves and sets them on the island, noticing the huge mess I’ve made.
“You didn’t have to do that,” he says softly. “But I’m starving, so I appreciate it.”
“It’s on the table,” I tell him. “Do you want some coffee?”
“Sure, I’d love some.”
He sits down and dives in, moaning as he chews. I make him a cup of black coffee, and when I bring it to him, half of the omelet is already gone.
“This is really good, Cami,” he mumbles around a mouthful. “You really made this?”
“I have the oil burns to prove it.” I chuckle. “Admittedly, I had to watch an instructional video. Don’t judge me.”
Eli licks his lips, holding back his laughter, but there’s amusement in his eyes. The whole thing is pretty hilarious. Poor rich girl who’s twenty-two can’t cook to save her life and has to research the simplest recipes. Regardless, I’m determined as hell to take advantage of this situation and learn some useful basic skills.
“No judging.” He holds up his fork, taking another large bite. “It’s delicious. In fact, now that I know you can cook, I’ll be expecting this every morning.”
My head falls back with laughter, but his encouragement warms my heart. It’s nice to hear that it wasn’t a complete epic fail.
“Baby steps,” I mock. “There are one-minute how-to-cook videos on TikTok, so I might be able to learn a second dish before this is all over.”
“I have a super easy one called toad in a hole. It’d be really hard to screw that up.”
I furrow my brows. “Toad in a hole? Where you fry the eggs in the middle of a piece of bread?”
He confirms with a nod.
“Then you mean egg in a basket.” I fold my arms, challenging his weird name. I’ve never made it, but our chef did when Ryan and I were kids.
He scrunches his nose and shakes his head. “Toad. In. A. Hole,” he emphasizes slowly. “Is the correct term. Fight me.” He smirks.
“That doesn’t even make sense. If you’re going with an animal, wouldn’t it be chick in a hole?”
He snickers, shrugging. “Aren’t you going to eat anything?” he asks once he realizes I don’t have a plate.
I cock my head, pursing my lips. “It was hard enough making one omelet. I’m not pressing my luck again.”
“Cami.”
“Stop, I’m fine. I wanted a smoothie anyway.” I slide the chair back and stand.
“Let me make you something as a thank you for breakfast,” he urges. “Please.”
“No way!” I scold, walking to the kitchen island to clean up. “I made you that as a thank you. You can’t thank me for thanking you.”
He squints, grabs his plate, then walks toward me. “Wait, what?”
I sigh. “You’ve cooked since we got here, so I wanted to repay you for that. You can’t in return thank me for it when I was already thanking you.”
“Says who?” he challenges, setting his empty dish in the sink.
“Me,” I remark. “If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll eat a big lunch.”
“Hmm.” He thinks it over, brushing his fingers over his scruffy jawline. “Alright, fine. But lunch is in an hour then.”
“Oh my God.” I shake my head, laughing at his persistence. I open the dishwasher and load it, add in the detergent, then hit start.
Eli silently watches me with an amused expression as he leans against the counter, crossing his ankles.
“What?” I ask. “Why are you staring at me like that?”
“Just thinking how sexy you look right now.” I was certain he was going to make some smart-ass comment about me using the dishwasher properly, but I hadn’t expected that.
I look down at my outfit, which consists of the same clothes I wore to bed. Normally, I’d never be caught wearing loungewear around anyone other than my family, but I’m comfortable around Eli. Plus, he doesn’t care about any of that.
“You mean, greasy hair and an unwashed face are your kink?” I release a dramatic gasp. “Who knew?”
“Actually, I was thinking you being all domestic and shit makes me horny as fuck.”
I set my hands on my hips and narrow my eyes at him. “Let me guess, you want your woman barefoot and pregnant, am I right? A traditional housewife, dinner on the table at six every night, sex on Saturday nights after SNL.”
“Oh, there’d be sex every night,” he retorts. “Especially if I want to keep you knocked up.”
“Well, sorry to burst your 1950s era bubble, but I plan to have a career,” I state matter-of-factly.
His shoulders rise and fall. “So? Have a career. You can be a mom and wife at the same time. Millions of women do.”
“And what will you do? Chop wood and fix light bulbs while I raise the kids and bring home the bacon?”
He smirks. “I’ll pick up the kids from school, take them to the park to play, then bring them home. I’ll give them a bath, then read them a bedtime story. Once they’re asleep, I’ll pleasure my wife and make sure she goes to bed completely satisfied.”
“Wow. Sounds like you have it all figured out.”
He bobs his head back and forth, pushing off the counter. “Except for a few minor details.”
“Like what? Pussy or anal?”
His cocky smirk returns as he takes a step toward me. “Is everything about sex for you?”
I roll my eyes, leaning against the island. “What then?”
“I’d prefer to marry a woman who wants me as much as I want her. I don’t mind the chase, the challenges even, but I don’t want to
