Page 33 of Protecting You
He peered over her shoulder, much closer than necessary, his breath fanning the skin behind her ear.
She shivered, praying he didn’t notice how his nearness affected her.
“Which is whose?” Worry tinged his words.
She was tempted to tell him it was all for her, just to mess with him.
“I wasn’t sure what you’d want, so I got a few options. I’d like the yogurt, but I can eat the toast instead.”
He plopped the lid back on the pancakes, slid the yogurt in front of the chair he’d pulled out for her, and then gripped the back of it. “After you.”
“I can seat myself.”
“Can you? I wasn’t sure.” Annoyance carried on his words. He waited until she’d settled in the chair, then rounded the table, sat across from her, and dragged the eggs closer. “You’re going to have to get used to having me around, not stiffen whenever I touch you.” He sipped from one of the glasses of juice, and his eyes widened. “Wow. This is good.”
She nodded to the juice. “It’s freshly squeezed. Why?”
“Why do they squeeze oranges when the juice comes in cartons?” He shrugged. “Before today, I would’ve guessed snobbery, but?—”
“You know what I mean. Why do I have to get used to you?”
“Because I’m not going anywhere. Because engaged people don’t cringe when they’re together. Theylikebeing together. Theyliketo touch.”
“You know this because you’ve been engaged?”
“I know this because I’ve been in love. And because, you know, I live on the planet and have eyes.” He forked a bite of breakfast.
She focused on stirring her parfait, mixing the granola and berries into the yogurt, not thinking about Callan’s being in love. Or having been, it sounded like. Which meant he wasn’t now.
Not that it was any of her business. Not that she should care.
She dug into her yogurt, then swallowed a bite. “I’m not playing this game with you.”
He wiped his mouth with the cloth napkin. “Which game is that?”
“The we’re-engaged-and-in-love game. I’ve got better things to do than play pretend.”
His close-lipped smile was anything but happy.
“What?” She didn’t temper the demanding tone.
“Okay.” He ate a slice of bacon, then worked on his eggs.
Okay? That was all he had?Okay?
What did that mean?
Callan finished the first plate of food, then uncovered the pancakes. “You want some of these?”
“Go ahead.”
He traded his empty plate for the full one, buttered the stack, then covered the whole thing in maple syrup.
Apparently, the thought of terrorists didn’t affect his appetite.
A low buzzing had her pushing back in her chair. She found her phone, which was vibrating with a call, and read the caller ID.
“It’s him. It’s Ghazi.” Her pitch was too high. She took a breath. “Charles.”
