Like the perfect team. “Sounds good. The cabinet beside the fridge.” I kept an eye on the roux for the gumbo until it was a nice peanut brown, keeping an eye on Oliver’s graceful movements as he mixed away on the kitchen table. “I’m on to you, Oliver.”
“Yeah? What do you think you’ve figured out about me?” Even his tone was arrogant, because he just couldn’t help himself. He’d been blessed with beauty and he was a talented writer—Oliver didn’t know how to fail.
It was a risk, reading him this way, but it wasn’t like I was holding out hope that he would magically change his stance on relationships. “The things you advocate to your readers, like being able to whip up a cocktail to complement a meal if she’s gone through the trouble of cooking for you, that’s part of being a team. Like a partnership, which is what any relationship is.”
“That’s just being considerate, which considerably increases your chances of getting laid.”
Also true. “But you’ve already gotten laid, shouldn’t you be bored by now?”
“I should but, strangely, I’m not. You are a very intriguing woman, Eva Vargas.”
I rolled my eyes, even though I was secretly thrilled at the compliment because it was a real compliment. It wasn’t about my physical appearance, but about the kind of person I was. “Thank you, Oliver.” I batted my lashes slowly and he stumbled, just a moment, and recovered quickly.
“My pleasure. Truly.” His gaze was white-hot, practically undressing me as it slid up and down my body. “Sangria. Refreshing and delicious.”
Both dishes now simmered on the stove, so I accepted the glass with a smile. “I’d consider keeping you just to have a bartender on call,” I told him without thinking. “You know what I mean.”
“I do,” he said cheekily. “You want to keep me.”
I rolled my eyes again, but I couldn’t stop the smile that spread across my face. Being around Oliver made me feel like a giddy teenager, like a girl with a crush for the first time. “I said I would consider it, and only because of your drink-making skills.” I took a long, exaggerated sip and smacked my lips together. “Satisfactory.”
“I never would have pegged you as a fan of The Simpsons.” His lips curled into a smile that I desperately wanted to kiss. Instead, I took another sip of the cool and refreshing sangria.
“Learn something new about a person every day.”
“And Dr. Who?”
I shrugged. “Found it because of a guy. Kept the Doctor and kicked the guy to the curb.”
“His loss.” His playful blue eyes darkened with desire and he took a step forward.
“I agree.” I nodded slowly, my mouth slightly open, and I was sure the look in my eyes mirrored his. Dark and aroused. Hungry. Intense.
“It’s a good look on you.” Oliver’s words were barely above a whisper and I almost had to strain to hear him.
I arched a brow to let him know I didn’t believe him. “Better than the dresses?” Dresses chosen specifically because they amplified my curves and hid my flaws.
The laugh he let out was loud and deep—booming, even. “The only thing better than your sexy body in those irresistible little dresses you wear is you in nothing at all.”
Wow. “Yeah?”
His nod came as slow as the smile that accompanied it. “Hell, yeah. In fact,” he pulled me close and took the glass from my hand, “it’s been too long since I’ve seen you.” His lips brushed against mine in a whisper of a kiss. “Tasted you.” The second kiss was longer, a deep hunger being satisfied as he drank from my lips, his hands roamed down my back to cup my ass. “Felt you come apart around me.”
Oh, god, it had been too long. Far too long, and I was as hungry and as desperate for him as I had ever been. “Oliver, please.”
That was apparently all he needed to hear, because in the next moment I was in his arms as he carried me to my bedroom, stripped me down, and kept me there until long after the sun had sank behind the horizon.
And, wonder of wonders, after a big bowl of jambalaya—which we shared—we went another round that lasted until the sun returned to welcome another beautiful day.OliverAfter I spent the perfect day with Eva—hell, what even a guy like me would consider the perfect damn date—Sophie had called with “good news,” she said. “We have another match for you. Date number four, or is it five?”
Who cares? “Haven’t been keepin’ track, Soph.” None of the women were nearly as interesting as Eva, who was so damn confusing I could no longer tell if I was coming or going.
“Well, no matter, she’s great. Beautiful and smart and accomplished, all the things you’re looking for in a woman—or would be, if you were looking for a woman.” There was something in her tone I didn’t trust, but I ignored it and took down the details of the date.