Kit snorted. “Eight.”
He grinned. “What kind of pool do you want?”
Slanting him a glance, she said, “Shut up and run.”
He laughed and they ran, the night a starlit quiet around them. They passed one of the security guys, kept going with a nod of hello. It took four circuits around the property before Kit stopped at her front door. “Enough?” she said, her breath jagged and her hands on her knees.
“Yeah.” He usually ran for hours, but then he was usually alone. Running with Kit had been different—he didn’t know if he was tired enough to catch some shut-eye, but at least he no longer felt as twisted and black inside. “Let’s go in.”
He did sleep. Not much, but about the same amount he did after exhausting himself—or by fucking out his rage. Not that it had exactly been the latter when he screwed those random groupies. There was a twisted version of male pride involved too, but he didn’t have to think about his fucked-up psyche today. Because today when he woke, it wasn’t with the taste of disgust in his mouth but to the scent of coffee.
Wandering out of the bedroom without bothering to pull on jeans over the black of his boxer briefs—Kit had seen it all before anyway—he yawned as he stepped into the kitchen. “I thought you’d sleep in.”
She didn’t look away from the box she was reading. “Can’t. Body clock.”
“What’s that?” Leaning on the counter, he stole her coffee and took a deep gulp.
His stomach rumbled.
Glancing across the counter, her lips began to curve before her expression morphed into a scowl. “You look terrible.”
Kit was lying—Noah looked gorgeous. His hair was all rumpled, his shoulders golden and sleek with muscle, his upper body far too beautiful for her peace of mind.
And his eyes, those gray eyes, were full of light.
“Gee, thanks, Katie.”
“No waffles for you.”
“Hey, come on!” A grin that made him impossibly more beautiful. Putting down her coffee mug, he came around the counter, and damn it, he wasn’t wearing jeans. “I bet I can convince you otherwise.”
When he put his hands on her hips and tugged her forward, she slammed the box of waffle mix against his chest. “Stop right there, mister.” Her stomach was flipping, her skin hot.
He wrapped his arms around her instead and leaned in to press his forehead against hers. “Good morning.”
“I hate mornings,” she said, trying to keep her voice strong. It was difficult—she’d never seen Noah like this. In a good mood, yes, but never this good. He seemed to be smiling with his whole body. If this was what she got to wake up to every day, she might just come to like mornings.
“I’ll make the waffles from scratch,” he said, his cheeks creasing.
Her mouth fell open. “Since when can you cook?”
“I didn’t say I could cook. I said I could make waffles.” Moving one hand to her face, he cupped her cheek, that heartbreaker smile still on his face. “I had a job in a diner once, remember? Not long after the guys and I first came to LA. Anyway, the cook taught me.”
“Female cook?” she asked and saw the answer in his wicked smile. Affecting a scowl, she pushed at his shoulders, had to fight not to keep stroking the hot silk of his skin. “Let’s see these famous waffles.” She didn’t really want him to release her. Being close to Noah when he was like this… it made her want to laugh and cry at the same time.
He rubbed his thumb over her cheek before letting go. “Where’s your flour?”
“Same place as your pants,” she muttered and, when he threw back his head and laughed, couldn’t help her own smile. “Go put on clothes or you might burn something important.”
Still grinning, he returned to his bedroom and came back out wearing only a pair of jeans she recognized—hard not to when the denim had a tear just below his butt and threadbare patches all over. “Do you wear those outside?”
A shrug. “I wore them onstage during the tour.”
Jealousy bit into her with sharp little teeth. Stomach tensing, she shoved away the nasty, vicious emotion. Being jealous of all the women who wanted Noah—who’d been with him—would destroy the two of them before they ever had a shot. She had to let it go, but it was hard. So damn hard.
“Found it!” He held up her flour container with a triumphant look on his face.