Chapter 4I made coffee in the French Press because it was better that way and one of my favorite indulgences when I had the time. When it was ready, I pushed the plunger and poured us both a mug, then carried them across the space to where Xavier had settled on one half of my two-seater sofa. I handed him his mug and he immediately wrapped both hands around it, and settled back into the corner of the sofa, stretching out his long legs and crossing them at the ankles. I didn’t leer. I swear. I ignored those long, muscular, powerful-looking legs that I’d like to have wrapped around my waist, pulled my own legs underneath me, and got comfortable in the opposite corner.
“You know,” he said with a sigh that seemed to come from the depths of his soul. “Most people are freaked out by it. Or gros
