Unleash Me, Vol. 1 (Unleash Me, Annihilate Me Series) (11 page)

For a moment, we were still and
gasping for air.
 
Then, he gently
pulled out of me, turned me onto my side, and wrapped his arm around my
waist.
 
I glanced at the bedside
clock.
 
It was almost morning.
 
Soon, I
’
d have my first meeting with Marco Boss, and after tonight,
I was certain that I
’
d
either be glowing when I met him or, because I was so beat, there was every
chance that I
’
d
be a wreck.

CHAPTER SIX

When the sun rose, I woke and reached
over for Tank, but he wasn
’
t
in bed.
 

With a start, I looked at the time on
the clock on the bedside table, and, seeing that it was just after five o
’
clock, felt a sense of
relief.

That
’
s when I smelled the fresh pot of coffee brewing.

“
Tank?
”
I
called.

“
In
the kitchen.
 
Come and join me.
”

Join you?
 
I thought.
 
After last night, I know I look like
a hot mess.
 
No one is seeing me
like this.

“
Give
me two minutes.
”

“
Take
your time.
 
I
’
m cooking
breakfast.
 
If you
’
re going to meet with
that son-of-a-bitch Boss today, you
’
re going to need your energy.
”

Tank cooks?

I went naked into the bathroom,
surveyed the damage, and squinted at myself in complete and utter
discouragement.
 

My hair was in tangles.
 
At some point in the night, I
’
d apparently lost both
of my false eyelashes
—
God
knows where they were now.
 
Probably
stuck somewhere on Tank.
 
Because of
all the mascara Bernie had applied to me, I looked as if I
’
d been socked in each
eye, and the lipstick smeared around my mouth made me look even more as if I
’
d been in a
brawl.
 

I couldn
’
t let Tank see me like
this, but I also didn
’
t
want him to think that pulling myself together was done effortlessly.
 
So, with haste, I used the bathroom,
quickly washed my face clean, found a brush in a drawer and ran it through my
hair, and then I tied my hair behind my head in a ponytail.
 
I found the mouth rinse I
’
d used the night
before and used it, and then I appraised myself in the mirror.
 
This I could deal with.

Now, for something to wear.

In his bedroom, I found one of his
flannel shirts hanging neatly in a closet, and I put it on.
 
It was so large on me, it was like
wearing some sort of Alaskan nightgown.
 
I went back into the bathroom, surprised to see that it looked kind of
cute on me.
 
When I joined him in
the kitchen, I found that he was wearing nothing but boxer shorts that fit
snugly against him and left nothing to the imagination.

“
Look
at you,
”
I
said.

“
Look
at
you
.
”

His sandy hair was tousled and he had
a distinct five o
’
clock
shadow, which I thought was beyond sexy on him.
 
Whereas his body was otherwise clean of
hair, he obviously could grow one aggressive beard.
 
I
’
d never seen him like this before, and I decided that I
rather liked it.

“
Do
you wear anything in the morning?
”
I asked.

He pointed down at his boxer
shorts.
 
“
I wear these.
”

“
But
it
’
s
January.
”

“
I
believe the heat is on.
”

“
Is
that it?
 
Or am I just starting to
feel warm?
”

He smiled at that.
 
“
I can always put on a T-shirt.
”

“
I
don
’
t
know if that would be better or worse.
 
Carry on,
”
I
said.
 
“
I
’
ll just slowly wake up
while I look at you.
”

“
Coffee?
”

“
Please.
 
In an IV drip, if you have one.
”

“
Tough
night?
”

“
Very
funny.
 
And here I thought I knew
you.
 
What was that last night?
”

“
Just
the beginning.
”

“
You
’
ve got more than that?
”

He didn
’
t answer me, though I did see a glint in his eyes.
 
He already had a cup of coffee waiting
for me, and he made it exactly as I liked it
—
black.
 
I
’
d spent the night here enough times for him to know that,
but he
’
d
never cooked for me.
 
Apparently,
before he left for Singapore, he was going all out, and I loved him for
it.
 
I was grateful for it.
 
I felt so lucky for it.

“
So,
”
I
said.
 
“
You cook?
”

He handed me my coffee.
 
“
Yes, ma
’
am.
”

“
Where
did you learn?
 
Or are you
self-taught?
”

“
I
learned from my grandmother.
 
She
raised me, and she was an excellent cook.
 
I grew up on a farm in Nebraska.
 
After my grandfather died, it was just the two of us.
 
We were very close.
 
What I loved about life on the farm is
that everything was fresh, from the eggs to the meat to the vegetables.
”

I had no clue about that.
 
When was I going to know all of him?
 
“
You didn
’
t
grow up with your parents?
”

“
I
didn
’
t.
”

He didn
’
t offer a reason why, though I had to wonder why.
 
But I
’
d wait for him to tell me himself.
 
When he was ready, he would.
 
I just needed to respect him, and be
patient.

“
How
does this sound for breakfast?
”
he
asked.
 
“
Poached eggs over
toast, bacon cooked in the oven, fresh orange juice, and a croissant or a
bagel.
 
That should get you through
to lunch.
”

“
That
’
s pretty much what I
eat for an entire day.
”

“
You
need to be well-fueled for Boss.
 
I
’
m going to make
certain of it.
”

“
And
you
’
re
going to cook all of this?
”

“
With
the exception of the croissants and the bagels, absolutely.
”

“
Do
you have the time?
”

“
It
’
s quicker than it
sounds.
 
My grandmother taught me
well.
 
She was an amazing cook.
 
She had more influence on me than my own
mother.
 
Same with my grandfather
when it came to my father, who was never around much.
 
But my grandmother was my rock.
 
She was a wonderful woman, but she was
stern when she needed to be.
 
When
we
’
d
cook together, she
’
d
say things like,
‘
Not
like that, Mitch
—
like
this.
 
Pay attention.
 
You
’
re making too much of it.
 
Why do you harm the food like that?
 
You should love it.
 
Caress it.
 
It
’
s not that difficult.
 
Treat it like a woman.
 
One
day, you
’
ll
understand what I mean.
 
Yes, that
’
s right.
 
Just like that.
’
 
That sort of thing.
”

Why didn
’
t
he live with his mother?
 
And what
was the deal his father?
 
I realized I still had a lot to learn about my boyfriend.
 
“
I would love to meet your grandmother some day,
”
I
said.
 
“
She sounds like
someone I would admire.
”

“
You
would have loved her, but she died a few years back.
 
She would have loved you, too
—
I
know that in my heart.
 
I miss her a
great deal.
”
 
He cleared his throat and I sensed
his loss from where I sat.
 
I wished
that I
’
d
never brought it up.

“
Can
I help you?
”
I
asked, wanting to change the subject.

“
Not
at all.
 
Drink your coffee.
”
 
He raised an eyebrow at me.
 
“
Maybe one day you
’
ll cook breakfast for me.
”

“
Shakespeare
never came up with more tragic words.
”

“
Oh,
come on.
”

“
I
can do frozen waffles and toast.
 
And coffee.
 
I totally can do
coffee.
”

“
So,
you don
’
t
cook?
”

“
Actually,
I
’
m
just joking.
 
I
’
m a good homestyle
cook.
 
I can cook like my own
grandmother used to cook for me
—
very
rustic, but delicious, if you like that sort of thing, which I think you do
from what you
’
ve
told me.
 
I can make a killer omelet
and, better yet, an amazing frittata.
 
I can make an apple pie that will make you cry for more, and pancakes that
will make you want to take me back to bed.
 
And I know how to make a mouth-watering chicken with forty cloves of
garlic.
 
I have a recipe for roasted
tomato soup with fresh thyme that will blow your boxers off.
 
And much more.
 
I actually love to cook.
 
It
’
s creative, and it releases stress.
”

“
When
I get back from Singapore, maybe you can make me a beef stew?
”