The Auction Block (Agents of Interpol 1)

Page 33

"You have to put one of the K-cups in the top," Blake says, making me jump.
"Put a what, where?"
"Here, let me show you." He grabs a small cup from a little holder, opens the top of the Keurig, slides it in and slams the top shut. Opening the cabinet to the left, he stretches to reach a mug on the top shelf.
Dear god,
I shake my head. He glances toward me, smiling as he catches me staring. He pulls the mug down and sets it under the spout.
"How strong do like your coffee?" He smirks.
"Uh, as strong as you can get it."
He presses two buttons and the machine kicks on, a stream of steaming coffee filling the cup. Blake taps a beat on the counter waiting for the coffee to finish. I scan him, taking in this very uncharacteristic version. He's wearing baggy sweatpants that hang loose on his hips, hinting at tone muscles. His chest muscles strain the tank top undershirt he's wearing in a really enticing way . . .
He hands me the mug and walks to the fridge. "Would you like something to eat?"
"Uh . . . you cook?"
"I do, very well I'm told."
"Sure, I guess."
"Sit down. How's eggs and bacon sound?"
"Fine." I slide onto one of the stools and watch him as he moves around the kitchen.
He's graceful for a person his size. I stare, transfixed as he scrambles eggs and puts bacon on. I pull my eyes to the balcony, staring at the lightening sky. This must be how normal people spend their days.
"Here ya go." Blake sets a plate in front of me.
"Thanks," I mutter, picking up my fork.
We eat in silence. I haven't had anything in days and Blake's a good cook. The eggs are delicious and the bacon is perfect. I lay my fork on the empty plate, draining my coffee cup. He stands, picking up my stuff before I can protest and sets it in the sink.
"When was the last time you ate?"
"That's really none of your business."
"I'm making it my business. How long?"
"I don’t know, four days…maybe five."
"Five days?" The disbelief oozes in his words. "I understand this is hard for you, but . . . please eat. Don't starve yourself while you're living here."
His concern throws me. Not the anger I expected. "Okay."
"Do you have something to wear for the ball?" He leans casually against the counter.
"Uh, no. Jax and I discussed it, and I'll go out this afternoon to get something."
"I'll get you something." He pushes off the counter and sits on the stool next to me.
"That isn't necessary. I'll take care of it."
"L
ily, you're only going to this because I am. Please let me."