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“I’ll cook.”

Without waiting for my reply, he starts pulling out pots, pans, and ingredients. I can’t take my eyes off his enormous frame. And those horns. All I’ve wanted to do since I first saw him is touch them. Are they smooth? Rough?

“Romy?”

I lock eyes with him. “I’m sorry?”

“I asked if you like your food spicy.”

“I like it spicy, yes.”

My cheeks turn pink as I realize the double meaning of my words. I swear Otis is suppressing a smile.

I sit down at the kitchen table and watch him pop the steaks in the pan, although I’m paying more attention to the way his shirt stretches across his back when he reaches into one of the cabinets than to the food he’s preparing.

I find myself staring at his horns again, and this time, he notices.

“What?” he asks.

“What do your horns feel like?” I blurt out.

Otis stops chopping and arches an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“Your horns.” I point at them as if there’s any chance he doesn’t know what I’m talking about. “Are they smooth? They look like they would be, but I can’t tell from here.”

I get up from the table and walk toward him. “Can I touch one?”

Otis stares at me in disbelief. I expect him to tell me no, considering that seems to be his favorite answer whenever I ask him for anything.

Instead, he puts both hands on the counter and sighs. “Fine.”

“Really?”

He lets out a growl. “Now, before I change my mind.”

Up close, his horns seem even bigger, curving away from his head before ending in a point. I lift my hand, and Otis lowers his head slightly to make it easier for me.

The small gesture sends butterflies through my stomach. I run my fingertips carefully over one of his horns, surprised by how smooth and warm it feels beneath my touch.

“Oh, wow.”

“Wow, what?” he asks in a low voice.

“Nothing. I just thought it would feel different.” I slide my fingers a little higher, following the curve. “Can you feel this?”

He purses his lips together. “My horns are very sensitive, Romy.”

Something about the way he says it makes my hand stop. “Sensitive in a good way?”

He nods, swallowing hard.

I slowly move my fingers over his horn again, but this time, I’m watching his face. Otis’s jaw tightens as I trace the curve of his horn. He definitely means sensitive in a good way.

Otis reaches up and wraps his hand around my wrist. “You’re playing with fire, Romy.”

“I’m just touching your horn.”

He scoffs. “You know that’s not all you’re doing. And you sure as hell know what touching them does to me.”