One Night with a Hero by Laura Kaye Page A

Waffles sound awesome.”
    She smiled, and Brady grew that much more satisfied with his seat-of-the-pants answer. “Yeah?”
    He nodded. “Gimme five and I’ll be over.”
    “Okay.” Joss opened her door. “Just let yourself in.” She disappeared inside.
    He stared at her empty porch for a moment and then went in his house. What are you doing, Scott? “I’m having waffles, goddammit.” He jogged up the steps and ditched his clothes in a pile in the bathroom. He grabbed the shower curtain package and tore it open, then shook out the dark blue fabric. “Aw, shit,” he said. He’d forgotten to buy the curtain rings.
    In the tub, he lathered up a bar of soap in his hands before doing a quick scrub over his entire body. He scooped handfuls of water from the faucet to rinse off, then toweled dry, that little voice bitching at him about why a shower was necessary to eat waffles. He brushed his teeth and combed his short hair without meeting his own gaze in the mirror.
    After he pulled on a pair of jeans and a clean shirt, he hustled downstairs. As he reached the door, he realized he’d forgotten shoes, but then shrugged and headed to Joss’s.
    “Knock, knock,” he called as he opened her door.
    “I’m in here. Come on in,” she called from the kitchen. Her place was laid out identical to his, but that’s where the similarities ended. Where his house was monochrome, hers was a riot of color. One living room wall and an overstuffed sofa were a deep plum, and two framed autumn landscapes that hung above her couch added greens, oranges, golds, and reds that were echoed in the curtains, pillows, and rug. The warm brown on the other walls continued into the dining room, which had a dark red accent wall and long curtains with an intricate, colorful pattern. Where his house was empty, picture frames, knickknacks, books, and overflowing shelves filled every space here.
    She flew into the dining room, cutting off his inspection of her home. “Hey,” she said with a smile.
    “Hey. Need help?”
    “Nope. I’ll just set this stuff out and the waffle iron should be ready to go.” She laid out the place mats, plates, and utensils next to one another at the small square table, giving Brady time to notice she’d changed clothes, too. Cut-off jean shorts replaced the rolled-up men’s boxers she’d been wearing, and the lacy outline of a bra was visible through the white tank. Which was somehow just as sexy. “Coffee?” she asked, waving him into the kitchen with her.
    “Please. Black.”
    “Oh, me too. Hope you don’t mind it strong.”
    “No such thing as strong coffee in my book.”
    “That’s the truth,” she said as she poured him a big mug full. “Here you go.”
    He took a long sip, his gaze dragging over her long, wavy brown hair, pink strands mixed in. She’d had it up in a sloppy bun when he’d arrived earlier. Had she let it down for him? The thought shouldn’t please him the way it did. “Good coffee. Thanks.”
    She smiled. “Okay, you want to go classic and have them plain? Or I can put chocolate chips or blueberries in them. Or a combination.”
    Brady surveyed the ingredients she’d laid out on the small counter. “Some of each?”
    “You got it.” She scooped and poured the batter, clearly comfortable working in the kitchen. And didn’t that throw him for a little bit of a loop yet again. A rebellious-looking woman who was at home in the kitchen. He glanced down to the Courage tattoo on her foot. Hell, she was even barefoot. The only thing she wasn’t was preg— Don’t even go there.
    “How long you lived here?” he asked to change the subject in his own mind.
    “Three years,” she said as she turned the iron. “I rent, too. Saving up for a house someday, but who knows how long that’ll take.”
    He tipped his cup to her. “That’s a great goal.”
    She opened the iron and removed the first golden-brown waffle. Its buttery, sweet scent filled the kitchen and had his stomach