If I'm going to get out of bed to answer, I might as well use the bathroom.
The doorbell didn't ring again, and when I came out of the bathroom, I was tempted not to answer the door, thinking whoever it was had given up. But out of curiosity, I go.
I open the door to find my boss standing there, looking sharp in his maroon suit and dark turtleneck vest.
Fuck! He looks good enough to eat. Who looks this good so early in the morning? Someone's trying to rub their good looks in the faces of us regular folks.
What's he doing here? I frown, surprised because he was the last person I expected to see at my door this early. I've been trying to muster the strength to call work, and here he is, ready to face whatever the day throws at him.
I can't believe we got home at the same time; he was even later than I because he had to drop me off first. And here he is, looking ready for a casual walk down the Milan runway.
"Can I come in?"
His question pulls me back to the present, reminding me I've been staring instead of being a good host.
Fuck!
My face flushes with heat, and I quickly look away, apologizing shyly before waving him in.
I step aside to let him pass, catching a whiff of that sexy, masculine perfume.
"Don't be sorry. I'm a handsome man, and most women can't help but admire my looks. You're no exception."
I roll my eyes at his bragging. "Gee, I wonder how your head fits through my door," I mutter sarcastically as I follow him inside.
He heads straight to the kitchen while I follow. He drops the bag he's carrying on the table and looks at me with his beautiful ocean blue eyes, sparkling with humor.
"Simple, I deflate it and boost it after I walk through your door."
I dramatically stop walking, clutching my chest as if in pain. "Oh my God! He made a joke!"
He laughs, then looks at me seriously. You look horrible.
I glare at him. "Gee, thanks. What a way to make a girl feel appreciated," I snap before hopping onto the table.
"There's no reason to be embarrassed or angry about what I said. It's honest, and everyone has days when they don't look their best. Today is yours. You have a cold, so it's no surprise you're not glowing, which is why I'm here."
When he puts it that way, I feel silly for taking offense. Anyway, did he say that's why he's here?
"What do you mean by 'that's why you are here'?" I give him a puzzled look.
"I suspected you caught a cold last night, and I partly blame myself, so I brought something to help you feel better."
"Where are your plates?" Ryan asks, turning to face the L-shaped wall cupboards behind him. He looks so at home in my tiny apartment.
I point behind him to the right cupboard, still amazed he came all the way here to bring me food just because he had a suspicion that I might be sick.
As I watched him make me breakfast, my heart raced. It has been years since someone prepared me something to eat, and I don't know how much I have missed being taken care of until he does.
Once again, my eyes sting with tears. Why is he always making me cry? I quickly wipe the tears away before he notices them.
Ryan looks so deft making the food, like someone who knows his way around the kitchen. "Do you know how to cook?" I ask curiously, watching him as he served me the soup.
"Of course," he says with an arrogant glint in his eyes, as if it is a given that men know how to cook. "I made the soup."
"What!" I gaped at him. The soup smells wonderful. There is no way he made it. I quickly take a sip of my soup with his eager eyes on me.
My eyes widen comically when they hit my tongue. Fuck! It tastes so good. I need more.
"Well?" Ryan queries curiously when I don't say anything about the soup.
"I will let you know once I am finished," I say in between my speedy gulps. It not only tastes nice, but I am already feeling better.
I picked up the plate and drank every drop of the soup before I slapped the bowl back on the table and then wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.
Belly full, my cold feeling better, I am now ready to continue our conversation. Staring at him like he is such an oddball, I asked. "So, where did you learn to make such a wonderful soup?"
His expression changed very subtly. If I weren't watching him closely, I wouldn't have noticed the flash of sorrow across his eyes.
"My grandma taught me."
He said the grandma with reverence, as if she meant a lot to him.
"She is very dear to you," I state the obvious.
"She is the only woman I have ever loved in my whole life," he states, with a fond smile on his lips, and I am tempted to ask if that means he doesn't love his fiancée?
Our kiss pretty says the words, but with men, you can never tell. One minute they are telling you I love you and walking down the aisle with you, and the next, another woman is knocking down the door with a baby in hand claiming it belongs to your just-married husband.
My phone pinged with a message, and I checked. My heart sinks to my stomach when I read Daniel's message.
He is on his way to my house.
Shit! I panic. If Ryan sees Daniel, he might recognize him and realize that I am working with the police.
I mean, the guy has been a thorn in the Blackwells family side, so there is no way they wouldn't know him.
Why is Daniel coming to see me? And what the fuck do I do? How do I get Ryan out of the apartment without making it look suspicious?
"Is everything alright?" Ryan asked me to pull myself out of my panic mode. He is staring at me curiously.
"Of course," I smile at him nervously. "Aren't you late?" I look at the clock. It is seven a.m. I can't believe we've been chatting for almost an hour.
"Are you chasing me out?" He raises a brow at me. "Not a good way to say thank you to someone who just fed you," he teases with a light smile on his lips.
I know he is making it light, but he is right. I am acting rudely, and it is only because I am scared of blowing my cover, but nothing excuses bad manners.
"I am sorry. It is just that I don't want to keep you from anything important," I say, averting my eyes from him. I really feel bad for my earlier rudeness. He is right. He just made my morning better, and I should be more grateful.
"You are important to me," he says in a serious, sincere tone that snags my attention. My head snaps up to meet his eyes as my heart jumps to my throat.
He is staring at me the same way he did last night. Like, I am the only thing that matters to him in the whole wide world.
Would he stop looking at me like that? He is making it so hard to hate him when he goes around making me breakfast and rousing my desire with just a simple look.
I couldn't look away from his magnetic gaze, even if my life depended on it, and breathing suddenly became difficult.
The sexual tension between us is so palpable that one could cut it with a knife. I am a second from begging him to kiss me, to touch me, to relieve this ache between my legs, but he ends the pull between us when he looks away.
"Anyway, I will get out of your hair so you can rest, but first, I need you to take this." He pushes a small brown bag toward me.
I open it and make a face at the medication I found inside. I hate to take medication.
"Don't like to take medicine?" He asked with a light humor in his eyes.
I shake my head with a pout on my face.
"Cute," he winks, and I blush, immediately looking away from him.
"Alright, I have two incentives to encourage you to take your medication. You can choose either one of them."
"Now you are talking," I joked, staring at him with eager eyes. I am curious about this incentive.
He smiled at me before bringing out a pack of candy from his pocket.
I smiled broadly at the candy. I love candies—one of the things that made Halloween my favorite holiday. Even though candy and I are best pals, I was still curious about the other incentive.
"And the other incentive?" I looked toward his pocket, where the candy had come from, hoping for another treat. Maybe an apple pie.
"A kiss from me."