Trespass by Meg Maguire Page B

those, but damn, he wanted it to be the last. He wanted Nicole to say something that echoed what he was feeling, something like, What happened earlier was incredible. I’ve never felt that with someone before . But he’d take silence. Silence beat Oh that? Yeah, that was all right. Better than all right to Russ, better than the best sex he’d ever had before, celibacy-bias or not. So good it’d gotten his brain stuck, tuned to this annoying, insecure frequency.
    “Good night,” he whispered.
    “Good night, Russ. Thank you for the hot sex.”
    He smiled so broadly he wondered if she could feel it against her neck. He pressed his face deeper into her hair and fell asleep, probably slept half the night still wearing that shit-eating grateful grin.

Chapter Four
    Russ woke to the smell of bacon. He also woke to a sight he hadn’t seen in ages—the clock on the wall above the couch telling him he’d slept past seven. Nicole was across the den in the kitchen with her back to him, puttering at the stove. Another sight he hadn’t been treated to in forever, a woman cooking for him. Her hair looked dark, damp.
    He pushed himself up to sitting, legs tangled in the blanket. “I slept through you getting up and taking a shower?”
    She turned and smiled, waving a fork at him. “Yup. Morning.”
    “Apparently.”
    “I figured if you didn’t set your alarm, you probably didn’t need to be anywhere.”
    He nodded.
    She turned back to the sizzling pan. “Do you have any assignments today? Er, appointments?”
    “Not on a Sunday, so long as no emergencies crop up.” He kicked the covers away to stand and stretch, then realized he was once again the underdressed one. He strolled to his bedroom and pulled on jeans, donned a shirt and sweater against the morning chill. Before he could change his mind or chicken out, he strode to Nicole, put his hands on her waist from behind and kissed her neck.
    “Smells good,” he said, trying to keep the growl out of his voice. Woman, bacon. Hard to top that combo.
    “How do you like your eggs?”
    “Scrambled’s fine.”
    “You sure? I worked at a diner in high school. I can make any kind you like. It’s practically the only thing I can cook.” She leaned over to pour him a cup of coffee.
    “Thanks. Surprise me, then.”
    She nodded and Russ let her go. He went to the front, grabbing the newspaper off the porch and settling in with it and the coffee at the table while Nicole cooked. Not bad. Not bad at all. Then the dogs began their morning chorus, and Russ abandoned his brief spell of laziness to feed them and tend to the horses. When he got back inside, Nicole was setting plates on the table.
    “Sunny-side up,” she said.
    “Fine by me.” Russ took a seat, admired the offering.
    She sighed, theatrically annoyed. “Not just fine . I’ll have you know this like the holy grail of egg cooking. Sunny-side up with no snotty clear bits, no hard yolk?” She sat with an air of smugness and reached for the salt and pepper.
    “You’re a pro.”
    “Are you putting me to work today?” she asked.
    “If you’re up for it. And it seems like you’ve already put yourself to work.” To illustrate, Russ took a bite of his toast. He looked at her face, remembering with a zap to his nerves the details of what they’d done last night. He hoped he’d keep remembering it all day long, little happy shocks like static electricity keeping him on his toes.
    “I think I’m up for nearly anything now,” she said. “Just not super-heavy lifting.”
    “Good. In that case I’m going to make you shampoo the horses.”
    She laughed then realized he was serious, face going from amused to curious.
    “It’s a lot like washing a car. It’s fun. You’ll like it.”
    “I’m sure I will.” She looked shy, staring down at her plate, moving her eggs around. Russ didn’t know if he’d ever seen anyone so pretty before. He wanted to reach over and grab her around the middle, haul her across