Desire's Edge by Eve Berlin

entire wall to the city, and another to a view of Elliott Bay.
    “What an incredible view,” Kara said, following him.
    “That’s why I bought the place. Mostly, anyway.” He would show her the shower later, when they were done eating. “I like to see the water during the day. And the city at night.”
    “You get it all here, it being a corner unit. Wow, your kitchen is amazing.”
    They moved behind the tall bar, and Kara ran her hand over the black and gray granite counter. The sleek black cabinets and brushed steel appliances were nice, he supposed, but he’d always wanted something a little warmer.
    “I’ve been thinking about remodeling, actually,” he told her.
    “I don’t know why you would. This is gorgeous.”
    He shrugged, loading up the coffeemaker and switching it on. “It’s not really my taste. It’s a little cold, don’t you think?”
    “It’s beautiful. But I can see what you mean, I suppose. It’s all very slick. What’s your dream kitchen, Dante?” she asked while he pulled ingredients from the cupboard and the refrigerator, a big mixing bowl and his hand blender.
    “I like wood. Something more organic. I like the modern aesthetic, too, but it has to be balanced.”
    He measured the flour, broke eggs into the bowl, added vanilla and the last few ingredients. He handed her the bowl. “Here, go ahead and mix this while I heat the griddle.”
    She took the bowl from him and turned on the mixer. They were quiet while it ran, the kitchen filled with the low hum of the implement and the warm scents of the vanilla and the coffee. With some warm sense of familiarity.
    He was so comfortable with her. Not that he was ever really uncomfortable with anyone. That wasn’t in him. But there was some extra degree of comfort with her.
    He shook his head, pulled the syrup from the cabinet, putting it in a pan of hot water to warm. He got plates out, flatware, mugs, pulled a pair of linen place mats from a drawer. “You can set us up on the counter,” he said, trying to get some sense of control back. Trying not to be so damn distracted by her long legs, the way her hair was a little wild, swinging around her high cheekbones as she moved.
    He poured the batter onto the griddle and watched them bubble, flipping the pancakes onto a plate when they were ready and pouring coffee into the mugs.
    “You really seem to know what you’re doing,” Kara commented, picking the mug up and sipping.
    “I told you I like to cook. And I always know what I’m doing.”
    He looked up at her and she grinned. She was sitting on one of the barstools, her elbows on the counter. She was a little disheveled, her cheeks flushed. He liked her like this. And he liked that she wasn’t the kind of woman who got all tongue-tied after sex. Made it more important than it needed to be. She was relaxed with him.
    Fucking perfect .
    He really had to stop thinking that. No one was perfect. He wasn’t looking for perfect.
    He wasn’t looking for anything. Never had been. His experience with Erin had taught him well years ago. He wasn’t capable of being responsible for someone else. Not like that. No, all he wanted was the temporary responsibility that came with the BDSM play. And when the evening or weekend or even a few months was over, everyone would pack up and go home. But he could enjoy this while it was happening. He intended to.
    He finished the batch of pancakes and loaded up their plates, sat down next to Kara at the bar. She dug in right away. He liked that, too, that she wasn’t one of those girls who ate like a bird—or pretended to. He liked even the lushness of her mouth as she ate.
    “This is so good, Dante. I don’t know when the last time was I had pancakes. I never had them as a kid, so it doesn’t occur to me very often.”
    “You never had pancakes as a kid?”
    She shrugged, taking another bite and chewing for a few moments. “I just . . . My parents weren’t very . . . They weren’t into being