Her eyes widened, but he decided it was a good time to leave—now, before he couldn’t. Leaning down, he caressed her lips with his before letting her go, and he slipped from the room, closing the door behind him.
He tried to ignore the fact that his legs felt like jelly, and that this night wasn’t going to be much fun, to put it mildly. It was only 3 a.m., but he was officially up for the day, in more than one sense of the word. Throwing on his jogging pants—thankfully, no one could see the tent he’d made in them—he grabbed a flashlight and his gun and stepped outside.
He planned to run until exhaustion was the only thing on his mind. But after two hours of punishing his body almost to the point of no return, he knew nothing was going to get Taylor from his mind.
Taylor looked around anxiously as she came out of the bedroom. Whew! No Travis. She’d behaved badly the night before. They’d both wanted to make love, but she’d been so afraid. That was her only excuse. He wasn’t the man she’d been imagining him to be for the last few years.
If he were a monster, this would be so much easier. But he was kind and giving, and he made her laugh more than anyone else ever had. So why was she so reluctant to fall back into bed with him? The answer was profoundly painful to admit to herself. It was because she was in love with him, and if for some reason this didn’t work out, she feared she’d never trust her heart again.
Was that a good enough excuse to keep her distance? Right now, she really didn’t have all the answers. Maybe she could do something kind for him. He’d been cooking most of the meals since they’d both ended up at the cabin—she mostly handled sandwiches—and though she wasn’t the greatest of cooks, she could surprise him with breakfast.
He was most likely out running, or gathering more firewood, more things she hadn’t been doing. Taylor realized that if she’d been up at this cabin all by herself, she never would have lasted. It was time to fight this inner battle and get back to the woman she normally was.
Yes. Breakfast it was. It wouldn’t be nearly as good as what Travis made, but that was okay. It was the thought that counted, right? Right! Pulling out one of the cooking magazines her mother had conveniently left, she flipped to a page showing breakfast biscuits and an egg dish she needed to bake.
Okay, she could do this!
She pulled out eggs, bacon, onions, and the ingredients for the biscuits. Her mother made the most mouthwatering ones, so she’d do her best. If she wasn’t careful with her cooking, instead of offering him an olive branch, she’d end up having to rush him into the ER to have his stomach pumped.
Taylor found herself humming as she combined the eggs with milk and seasonings in a bowl, and then poured the mixture into a pan and slipped it into the oven. Laying out the bacon in a pan, she enjoyed the sound of sizzling as she mixed the batter for the drop biscuits just like the magazine was telling her. Sure, the batter looked a bit lumpy, but she laid out the biscuits on the pan and put it into the oven, too, before flipping the bacon.
When she was finished with the meal, the egg mixture looked a little rubbery, the biscuits a bit too brown, and the bacon overly crisp, but she was more than proud of herself. Now, all she had to do was wait for Travis.
When the door opened a few minutes later and his eyes zeroed in on her, she gave him a hopeful smile, praying he wasn’t going to be angry with her. Yes, she had the right to refuse his advances, but they were in this small cabin together, and the last thing she wanted was to keep arguing with him.
“What’s that smell, Taylor?”
She couldn’t tell from his tone whether he considered the smell good or bad.
“I made breakfast,” she said, shifting on her feet.
He absolutely gaped at her, and it took him a moment to speak. “It smells great.”
Taylor could feel her face heat with pleasure. “Come sit down. It’s all ready.”
She brought the dishes to the table and waited for him to join her. She already knew he liked ketchup on his eggs—weird!—but she had the bottle next to his plate. He waited to sit until she was seated, a bit of sexist etiquette that she hated to admit pleased her, but it did. When he dished up a huge serving of each item, she found herself bursting with pride.
It was silly, honestly. She hadn’t done anything spectacular, but her last boyfriend had begged her not to cook, saying she was much better at ordering takeout. Even though she didn’t enjoy cooking, he’d still hurt her feelings for some odd reason.
“This is great, Taylor,” Travis said after clearing half his plate.
“I know it’s not cooked correctly . . .” she said as she pushed her food around on her plate. Sheesh. He’d been creating masterpieces during his time in the kitchen and her food tasted awful.
“There’s nothing wrong with it,” he said, and took up his fork again.
He smothered a biscuit with butter and her mother’s homemade jam, and ate it in a couple of bites. Maybe she’d made them too small and that’s why they were so hard. When his tongue came out and swept up the leftover jam on his lip, Taylor felt her stomach clench with need.
Their eyes met, and Taylor lost any semblance of an appetite—for food anyway. Keeping her distance from him seemed well-nigh impossible. After the night before, after his hands had roamed over most of her body, after his lips had owned hers, she couldn’t seem to keep sex off her brain.
“Taylor, if you keep looking at me like that, I’m not going to be able to play the gentleman,” he told her, his voice a sexy growl.