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“I’m not going to stand for a kitchen full of hormones and heavy breathing,” she continued.

I blushed hard. I hadn’t even noticed she was there. I’d been too busy staring at Sterling like he was the morning meal.

Sterling didn’t look the least bit embarrassed. “Easy, Marvis.”

She snorted. “Don’t ‘easy Marvis’ me. You’re looming.” Her gaze flicked to me, cool and assessing, then softened just enough to be startling.

“Though I’ll say this, everything you’re wearing looks exactly where it belongs.”

“Oh,” I said faintly. “Thank you.”

She nodded once, satisfied, then jabbed the rolling pin in Sterling’s direction. “Now, back up before I brain you. I’m making eggs, not mediating…whatever this is.”

Sterling grinned and did as he was told, stepping away like a chastened schoolboy who absolutely would not learn his lesson.

The woman—Marvis—turned back to the stove, muttering under her breath. “Sexual tension is thick enough to ruin a hollandaise. This house used to have standards.”

“Marvis, this is Sienna,” Sterling murmured. “She’s mine. Please don’t scare her before breakfast.”

I sucked in a sharp gasp. Excuse me?

Marvis’s brows shot up, then she barked a laugh that rattled the cabinets. “Well, hell,” she said, eyeing me again, slower this time. “You hear that, girl? He’s already gone feral. All hope is lost.”

“I’m not—I mean—” I flailed a hand at my face. “We’re not together.”

“Uh-huh,” she said. “You keep telling yourself that.”

That was when my gaze locked onto the mug in Sterling’s hand. Steam curled up from it, like salvation. The humiliation could wait; my body had made the executive decision.

I lifted both hands toward it, my fingers opening and closing in a silent plea.

Sterling caught the motion. His mouth tipped into a smirk, and he passed the mug into my hands without a word as if he’d been waiting for it.

“Careful,” Marvis muttered. “You’re giving him what he wants.”

My hands closed around the mug, then froze. I peered down into it, then back up at him. “I…uh. I kind of want one you haven’t already drank from.”

Sterling’s smirk deepened, and he rolled his eyes. “Just drink it.”

I shot him an annoyed look but took a cautious sip anyway. And nearly moaned.

It was exactly right. Not just good. Mine. Dark roast, cut with a splash of cream, two sugars but stirred just enough so it wasn’t cloying, and a hint of cinnamon I kept to myself because I didn’t trust anyone else to get it right.

I took another sip, slower now, suspicion creeping in with the pleasure. My eyes slid to him and narrowed. “That’s my coffee,” I said. “My embarrassingly specific go-to, in fact.”

He leaned back against the counter, utterly unrepentant, his abs flexing and trying to distract me. “You look like someone who needs it that way.”

I stared at him over the rim of the mug, heat crawling up my neck. “I’ve never ordered that in front of you.”

Marvis actually froze. The pan was halfway to the stove as her eyes slowly slid to Sterling. “Boy,” she said carefully, “what the hell is wrong with you?”

He shrugged, infuriatingly calm. “I pay attention.”

“That is not just paying attention.” Marvis set the pan down with a thunk and crossed her arms. “You been digging around in her purse?”

“No.”

“Reading her mail?”