I am tempted awake by the delicious smell of bacon. With my eyes still closed, I roll over in bed lazily. Mmm…Emma Jean is making breakfast. I should get up. Wait, I shouldn’t be able to smell bacon from my room. My eyes snap open.

I’m naked and alone in Lars’ bed.

My immediate and first thought is he’s done a runner because he regrets sleeping with me. But that insecure thought doesn’t last. The way Lars worshiped my body last night is not what people do to their one night stands. A secretive smile curves my lips to think of all the things he did to my body. I’ve never met anyone who did the things he does, or who made me climax so hard. I guess he must be very experienced.

We did it so many times I’m sore this morning.

I stretch deeply, and it makes both my knees and wrist ache. I examine my wrist gingerly. It hurts, but it’s bearable. I sit up and look around the dim room. Last night, I had no eyes for anything but him, but today, I’m curious. It’s surprisingly bare. A couple of watercolor paintings of horses, a wardrobe, a dresser, and a daybed with some olive-green pillows. It’s almost as if he lives here, but it’s not really his home.

The sheets reek of sex so I quickly strip them off the bed and bundle them up. Picking up the flannel shirt I wore last night off the floor, I slip it over my head. As I pass the mirror on the dresser, I glance at it. Yup, I look like a dirty stop over, but I can’t stop grinning at my reflection. Nothing can be done about my swollen mouth, but I run my hands through my hair to put it to some kind of order before I turn away.

Still wondering where Lars is, I quickly gather the rest of my clothing, add them to the sheets, and carry the wad out of the room. Pausing at the top of the stairs, I listen. Everything seems still until I hear clattering sounds coming from the kitchen.

I briefly think about exiting through the front door and accessing my living quarters through my patio, but I don’t like the idea of sneaking about like a thief, and I certainly don’t want to tell an unnecessary lie to Emma Jean. She’s been good to me and I respect her.

Clutching the dirty laundry against my body like a shield, I go down the stairs and head toward the kitchen for my walk of shame. The door is not closed, and I can hear Emma Jean moving around. For all I know, she has probably already heard about the sex tape and the ensuing fight. It’ll be embarrassing, but I’ll just have to brazen it out.

Cautiously, I put my head around the kitchen door, expecting to see Emma Jean’s cheerful face. But what I see is a stripped to the waist, totally edible Lars presiding over a big mess. There are pots and pans on the fire and in the sink. The table is littered with broken egg shells, cans of beans, bread, a bowl of pancake batter, packets of open bacon, and sausages. For a second, I stare at him blankly.

“You okay?” he asks, cocking an eyebrow.

I nod, still too bewildered by the sight of him cooking to form actual words.

“Well, I’m most definitely not,” he says.

I frown. Is this where it’s supposed to get awkward? I can act cool about last night if that’s what’s needed. Straightening my spine, I step into the kitchen. “Why aren’t you okay?”

He places his hands on his lean hips. “Here I am busting my gut trying to make and serve breakfast in bed to the most beautiful, naked woman God ever created, and she’s ruined it all by stripping the bed and getting back into clothes.”

I grin with relief. “The sheets reeked of sex.”

“What’s wrong with that?” he asks, genuinely surprised.

I laugh at his expression. “I think your beans are burning.”

He turns around, grabs the pan off the fire, and to my surprise, deftly and with the great flourish of a top-Chef, pours them into two plates that are already loaded with food parked on the warmer.

“Voila! Now, tell me that wouldn’t make an award-winning photo,” he boasts proudly.

That reminds me of Tamara’s order to send a picture of him this morning. I force a smile to my lips. “You’re absolutely right. It is photo worthy. I want to take a picture of it.”

He looks at me strangely. “You do?”

“Yeah, the first breakfast you ever made for me.” I lift a shoulder. “It can go into the Lars and I album.”

His eyes twinkle. “You’re going to make a Lars and I album?”

I nod guiltily. It never even crossed my mind to make one. “Give me a minute to get my phone. It’s in my room,” I call as I flee from the kitchen. I drop the bundle of clothes into the wash basket before going into my room to get my phone.

I see that Jesse has called three times. I text that I’ll call her soon then return to the kitchen. I notice that Lars has brought in a vase of flowers from the dining room and put it by the plates. Something tugs at my heart. How amazing it would be if this was real. That I’m taking a picture for a Lars and I album. I start clicking and sweeping the camera around to get a few shots of the chef. I try to take a few head shots too. There’s no way I’m sending Tamara pictures of a half-naked Lars.

Lars pours coffee into a mug. “Do you want milk or sugar?”

I shake my head and he sets the mug in front of me

“Where’s Emma Jean?” I ask, picking up the coffee.

“She never comes in the day after the party. Everybody is usually hungover in their beds, and no one comes around for food.”

I take a sip and nearly spit it out. Forcing myself to swallow it, I look at him. “What the hell have I just drank?”

He grins. “Cowboy coffee. Strong enough to float a horseshoe.”

“Ugh, it’s how I imagine battery acid would taste.” I stand up and walk over to the fridge. Getting a carton of orange juice, I pour myself a glass of it and walk back to the table. As I pass by, Lars’ large hand curls around my thigh. I look down at him.

“I never got my morning kiss, sugar pie,” he drawls.

I bend down and lightly place my lips on his. His other hand comes up and winds into my hair. His tongue forces its way into my mouth. I suck it and his other hand slides up my thigh. My stomach becomes jelly. His mouth leaves mine, but his eyes watch my face avidly as his fingers run along my wet seam.

“Are we really going to waste all this food?” I ask in a shivery voice.

“I’ll make us more,” he mutters.

I look deep into his beautiful eyes. “Do all your hook-ups get this treatment in the morning?”

His fingers still. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean you’ve had a lot of experience, haven’t you?”

“I’ve had my share,” he says with a slow, cocky smile.

“Do you make breakfast for them all?”

His smile widens. “Sometimes I give them such a good time they give me breakfast in bed.”

Arrogant pig. I keep my face totally straight and my voice solemn and slightly apologetic. “I know you tried, but I didn’t have a very good time last night.”

It’s water off a duck’s back.

“What if I told you I don’t believe you,” he replies.

I run a finger down his straight nose. “You’re very, very sure of yourself, aren’t you?”

His hand caresses my butt cheek. “I am. Are you very, very sure of your assertion.”

I nod slowly.

“Care to test out your theory?”

I put my glass of orange juice on the table. “How?”

He shrugs. “If I’m really awful, you should have no problem resisting me, should you?”

I pretend to consider. “That’s true.”

“You should be able to say no, no matter what I do.”

I pick a sausage from his plate and lick it slowly.

His eyes widen. “What are you doing?”

I look at him innocently. “Nothing. Haven’t you seen a girl lick a sausage before?”

“No. Has anyone ever told you what happens to girls who lick sausages?”

“No. What?”

“They usually get thrown on a table and end up begging for more.”

“There’s more evidence of your caveman techniques,” I say before gently sucking the tip of the sausage.

“Right. I’m going to get you to admit that I’m the best you’ve ever had, or I’m never eating another sausage in my life.”

I want to giggle so bad. “You can try, cowboy,” I say in my sultriest voice.

He stands up and sweeps all the plates of food to the floor. They smash and food flies everywhere. My jaw hangs open. “I can’t believe you did-”

He grabs me by the waist, lifts me up, and sets me on the edge of the table. “Hey,” I exclaim as he grasps my knees and pulls them apart. “What are you doing?”

“Haven’t you ever seen a man lick a pussy?” he asks.

I place my palms on his chest and crinkle my nose. “You’re not seriously going to do that, are you? Not after all the sex last night?”

“Why not? Day old muff. Heaven sliced up,” he mocks.

My mouth drops open with shock. “You really are irredeemable.”

“Now, have you got any other excuses, or are you ready to submit?”

“Do your worst,” I throw at him.

It takes him only seconds to tear an admission out of me. “You are the best I ever had.”

“And the sex?” he asks with his tongue poised inches away from my tormented clit.

“The greatest,” I pant. And I wasn’t just saying it either. As Chance would say, “Damn if that shit don’t take you to another place.”