Johnny (Connelly Cousins #2) by Abbie Zanders

gaze away from her and toward the laptop perched on a table by the windows, Johnny tried to focus on something other than her breasts, which looked phenomenal in that tank top.
    “I see no reason we can’t both get what we came here for,” he said easily, keeping his voice light, while a much darker voice spoke within him. He knew exactly what he wanted. Her. Naked. Now.
    She appeared to consider this, tapping one finger lightly against the mug. Johnny held his breath, mentally preparing a list of reasons to support his case in case she balked.
    “Okay,” she said slowly, drawing out the syllables as a slight smile graced her lips. Johnny was pretty sure she didn’t even realize it was there, and once again, couldn’t help but wonder what was going through her mind. “I promise, you won’t even know I’m here.”
    Fat chance of that .
    “Great. That’s settled then.” From across the table he heard her stomach growl. He cast a meaningful glance down at her untouched plate. “Your breakfast is getting cold.”
    “Oh, right. Thanks.” Now that they’d settled that, she apparently felt more inclined to eat. She tucked in, savoring each bite as he watched behind half-lidded eyes from across the table. God help him, he wanted to put something else in that wicked mouth.
    “This is delicious,” she said.  
    “Thanks,” he grinned. He wasn’t about to tell her that scrambled eggs was the only edible meal he could make, but he was willing to broaden his repertoire if it made her smile at him like that.

Chapter Nine
    A fter breakfast, Stacey insisted on doing the dishes. If they were going to share space, she was going to nip any preconceived notions he might have about her self-reliance right in the bud. Yeah, it was kind of nice that he wanted to do things like cook meals and clean-up, but he needed to know that she was perfectly capable of doing those things on her own. It was a lesson taught best by action, not words.
    Clearly, he wasn’t too happy about it. More than once, Stacey had to bite the inside of her lip to keep from smiling at his grumbles and put-out looks when he offered to do something and she turned him down. Proving that he did have a brain beneath all that fineness, though, he kept his protests to himself (mostly). Unfortunately for her, the man was no less sexy when he was pouting.
    She settled herself in front of her laptop and pointedly ignored him. Johnny made himself scarce. Or at least he pretended to. Every now and then she’d catch him out of the corner of her eye, puttering around here and there, fixing things that didn’t really need fixing. It was kind of cute.
    Once she forced herself to focus, her author’s brain took over and everything else faded into the background. She lost herself in the story; the only voices she heard were those of her characters. Images flooded her mind, her nimble fingers flew over the keyboard in an attempt to keep up. The scenes took on a life of their own, and it was all she could do to try and capture the feel through words, to instill each page with the emotion she felt as keenly as if she was living it herself.
    Stacey had been so engrossed in the story, she hadn’t even realized the power had gone out until the little blinking red battery light flashed ominously at her. Quickly, she saved off her file and copied it to the thumb drive attached to the side port.
    How long had they been without electricity? She glanced around, blinking until her eyes were able to focus beyond her laptop screen. It took a few seconds to adjust; the natural light coming in through the windows was practically non-existent. The deep, natural colors of the furnishings were barely distinguishable in the shadows.
    A glance through the window panels revealed dark skies growing darker by the minute. The familiar anxiety that always accompanied a strong thunderstorm began to build, along with the tell-tale heaviness in her head that signaled a sudden drop in barometric