~Joan~
I sniffed and burrowed further into the bed. The place smelled like heaven-enticing and intoxicating, like something I could get drunk on. I rolled onto my stomach and peeled my eyes open. My vision was blurry as I stared at the ceiling.
Where am I? My apartment doesn’t smell this good, nor does it look this dark. Hell, I sleep with my curtains open so I can catch the first ray of sunshine every morning.
I sat up and rubbed my eyes, trying to force some clarity into my brain. Have I been kidnapped? No, the room was far too pretty to be a kidnapper’s lair. Actually, it looked luxurious, like something out of a catalog.
A groan escaped me as I slid down the fluffy king-sized bed. I needed coffee to wake up properly and figure out what was going on. My feet moved on autopilot, taking me out of the room. Eventually, I ended up in the sitting room.
The fog in my brain started to lift, and I realized where I was: Aaron’s penthouse. Memories stirred sluggishly at the edges of my mind, but I couldn’t piece together why I’d spent the night here. Oh, good lord.
I sniffed the air again, and my stomach grumbled loudly in response. Hunger gnawed at me, and I decided to follow the scent that was wafting through the air. It led me to the kitchen, and the sight in front of me made my mouth water-for more reasons than one.
Okay, Aaron was right. There are a lot of things I don’t know about him, and one of those things was apparently that he could cook. The sight of him shirtless, wearing an apron tied snugly around his waist, was not something I ever thought I’d witness. It felt… intimate. Too intimate.
The way his biceps flexed as he chopped an onion-it wrecked me. Absolutely wrecked me. He glanced over his shoulder at me, and I was just quick enough to snap my mouth shut before he caught me gawking. His eyes swept over me, and I felt the prickle of awareness on my skin, heightened by the fact that I was wearing his T-shirt.
Aaron had made it pretty clear a couple of times last night that he liked me in his clothes. And I’d gotten quite a number of orgasms in return. Oh, goodness. I felt my face heat up at the memory of just how obvious he’d been about that.
“Morning,” I muttered, brushing past him and heading straight for his coffee machine. I could still feel his gaze on me, like a warm weight. His scent, clean and woodsy, seemed to wrap around me, sinking into my skin. It didn’t help that his T-shirt smelled like him too.
“Slept well?” he asked, his voice rich and smooth, like it was meant to lull someone into trouble. I raised a brow at him as I fiddled with the machine.
“I’m surprised you didn’t try to kill me in my sleep,” I retorted, half-teasing, half-testing the waters. His lips curled into a slow, lazy smile that made my heart stumble. He really shouldn’t smile like that.
“I had other ideas, kitten. Killing you wasn’t on the list.” His voice dipped into something low and suggestive, and warmth crept up my spine in response. Oh well.
I took a long sip of my coffee, giving my hands something to do while my brain scrambled to act normal. “Never knew you were a chef,” I said, pretending like his bare chest wasn’t a distraction. He shrugged one perfect shoulder, so casual it was almost unfair. My eyes trailed down his body without permission, taking in his tanned skin and the curve of his muscles.
“I was serious when I said there’s a lot you don’t know about me,” he said, his tone as light as his words were heavy. I pursed my lips.
“About the storm,” I started, watching as his muscles tensed for just a fraction of a second before he relaxed again, his movements practiced and controlled.
“Is it over yet?” I asked. Aaron and I might’ve been conversing like normal humans now, but I knew it wouldn’t last. It never did. It would only take one careless word to set either of us off, and I wasn’t in the mood to be thrown out of his penthouse.
“No. I checked the news this morning. It’s gotten worse,” he replied curtly. My shoulders sagged in defeat. Looks like I was stuck here for a while.
“It’s clear outside now,” I argued, glancing at the windows. “You could drive me home before it gets worse.”
Aaron turned the stove off with a deliberate motion and glanced at me over his shoulder. “It’s dangerous out there, Joan. What happens if we get caught in the storm?”
I rolled my eyes. “You leave me out there to die while you save yourself,” I teased, earning an unimpressed look. Busted.
“Aaron, I can’t stay here with you,” I said flatly, folding my arms as I dropped the mug. His expression blanked, his face slipping into that guarded mask I knew too well. Exactly what I was afraid of.
He passed me a plate of omelet and pork sausage without a word and walked out of the kitchen. I had no choice but to follow, my stomach betraying me as the smell of breakfast made my mouth water again. The idea of Aaron making me breakfast did silly things to my insides, things I didn’t want to name. Butterflies? No way.
He sat on a stool at the kitchen island, and I slid into the seat next to him. My eyes flicked to the floor-to-ceiling windows, where the weather wasn’t looking nearly as friendly as I’d thought.
As I ate, I noticed something strange. His food was neatly arranged on his plate, each item carefully separated so nothing touched. I frowned. His house was spotless too-so clean it felt almost sterile, not a speck of dust anywhere. Even the room he’d let me sleep in was immaculate, and he hadn’t slept in his bed last night. He’d mentioned the guest room being out of order, but something didn’t add up. Come to think of it, I’d never seen Aaron sleeping.
I frowned deeper and glanced at him. He was watching me with a curious look, his fork paused mid-air.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, and I hesitated before blurting it out.
“Aaron, do you have OCD?”