“You don’t understand, Seth.” Her hands didn’t cease moving over his naked torso. “I can’t stop touching you … but I need to stop so you can cook. Please put your shirt back on. I’m starving.”

“I…” He cleared his throat and reached for his shirt with her greedy hands still roaming his body. “I see your point.”

Even when his T-shirt fell over her hands, Tara was reluctant to take them off of him. Listen, hands. You need to disengage. That’s an order. Trailing her fingers down his stomach, she slowly let her hands drop to her sides, then took a step back for good measure.

“Okay.” She flapped her hands to send him off. He was still too close. “Go make us breakfast so we’ll have energy for our after-breakfast activities.”

With a smug smile curling his lips, Seth walked to the fridge and pulled out some butter, eggs, and milk.

“Ooh, I didn’t know you were making fancy scrambled eggs.” Tara went to stand by the island so she could watch him cook. It was so sexy.

“Fancy scrambled eggs? Don’t all scrambled eggs have these ingredients?”

“Milk maybe, but butter is a definite level up.”

Seth chuckled. “These are the only eggs I know how to cook. Aria taught me before I went to college, saying that I won’t starve as long as I know how to cook some eggs.”

“It’s Aria’s recipe? Well, then. They’re fancy eggs for sure.” She rubbed her hands together. “Can I help?”

“Do you want to slice some bread for toast?” he said, pointing at half a loaf of country bread.

“Sure. We get crusty bread with the eggs? This is totally gourmet.” She sliced three pieces of bread and cut them in half so they would fit in the toaster. “Do you want olive oil on the bread?”

“No, thanks. I think of bread as a conduit for the butter.” He smiled at her and returned his attention to whisking the eggs quicksilver fast.

He placed a generous pat of butter onto the heated pan, then added beaten eggs when it was just melted. He stirred the pan until fluffy morsels formed and took it off the heat. The toaster dinged as soon as Seth plated their decadent scrambled eggs, so she joined him at the kitchen table with a plate of toast. He went back into the kitchen, but returned quickly with French-pressed coffee.

“Ah, a man of his word,” she said appreciatively.

“Always. Now let’s eat,” he said, as he poured her a small glass of orange juice from the carafe on the table.

Tara needed no more encouragement. The first bite of the creamy, fluffy eggs had her lashes fluttering. “Oh, my googly eyes. This is incredible.”

“Thank you. I’ve had years of practice.” He laughed, shaking his head. “Googly eyes?”

“Shush. Things pop out of my mouth before my brain registers it. But really, this is so great.”

As Tara shoveled the eggs into her mouth, something niggled at the back of her mind. He’d learned how to make this before he went to college, and had a lot of practice since then. Did he make scrambled eggs for every woman he slept with? Whoa. Where did that come from? I can’t be jealous. Especially over his past.