Hot to the Touch

“Were you back at the restaurant with Raoul?”

“Oof, no.” She kissed him to stop the talking. “Don’t even think that. Just…love me.”

Love me? Oh, God. She’d been going to say an entirely different word, but at the last second she was afraid it would sound too coarse and had tried to substitute. Only…it didn’t work.

“Relax.” He was whispering, moving in delicious rhythm. “It’s okay. I am loving you. Making love to you.”

Yes. She closed her eyes, let her body relax, let her hands explore his muscled shoulders, the tapering lines of his back, gave herself over to his acceptance and his enjoyment of her. Yes.

Her body responded, climbing toward a climax that came on effortlessly and inevitably, making her tense her hips and lift toward his thrusts, greedy for the sensation, aware in her heart that he was right there with her, feeling what she was feeling, sharing every moment.

As soon as she burst over the edge, she became greedy only for his pleasure, and when he came, a new level of warmth and satisfaction spread through her, as if she’d climaxed again. Everything with Troy was so new and so different.

Last time she felt this profound a shift in her perceptions was when she got her drinking under control and applied herself to the new dream of becoming a chef, of having her own restaurant, of kicking off the influence of her bitter mother and furious father, eventually kicking off the influence of damaging men in her life, as well. Was it possible she was coming alive on a new level now? That instead of regressing into a relationship, she could view this as blossoming into one?

Being here in Troy’s arms, both of them sated and blissful, she could almost believe it. Almost.

The growl of his stomach brought giggles into their afterglow and eventually got them up, dressed again and into the kitchen, where Darcy put the meal in motion.

Everything went perfectly; the hamburgers were juicy and rich, meaty with the deep flavor of the grass-fed beef boosted with porcini powder. The cheater-fries were crisp and fragrant, the coleslaw tangy and fresh-tasting. She didn’t know when she’d gotten such pride from cooking such simple food. Maybe this would make another good summer special for the restaurant: Who Needs Fancy When There’s Delicious?

Troy finished the last fry, swiping it in a spill of ketchup, and gave a long, satisfied sigh. “Darcy, you are a kitchen genius. I’m touched you did all this for me, especially after a long day at work.”

“It was nothing.” She sipped beer, realizing how much her own enjoyment of the meal had come from pleasing him. Oh, Lord, she wasn’t about to get servile, was she? She wanted this new relationship to come with a guarantee the old patterns no longer applied.

He leaned back in his chair, took a sip of beer, watching her appraisingly. “You are a genius and a romantic.”

“Romantic?” She gave him a good frown. “What makes you think that? Because I cooked something you like? That’s my job.”

“That, and you named your restaurant after the flower in your mother’s wedding bouquet. If you expected love always to turn to crap, you wouldn’t want to name your restaurant anything to do with disappointment and failure.”

“Hmm.” She considered him, slowly swinging her beer back and forth. “Interesting idea.”

“Admit it. I’ve outed you. You’re a romantic.”

“Yeah?” Annoyance jabbed. She wasn’t wild about being told who or what she was, even though he was right.

Wait, hadn’t she been thinking how much she treasured how easily he could read her? Why was she suddenly looking for reasons to be dissatisfied?

Troy took her hand across the table, his beautiful, deep eyes so warm she had to look away. “Remember I said strength and integrity were most of what gladiolas stood for?” He squeezed her fingers. “But that there was something else, too?”

“Yes.” She started feeling unaccountably nervous. “What is it?”

“Love at first sight.” He spoke casually, but her hand jerked and she nearly dropped her beer, remembering that powerful first encounter at Esmee. Was that why he’d brought the flowers? Was he saying he was in love with her? Fear shot through her in the same intensity as hope.