“Come on—let me cook you dinner.”
I followed his progress around the kitchen with wide eyes.
“You don’t know how to cook,” I retorted.
“Of course I do,” he replied easily, pulling out his laptop to order groceries online. “You know I spent that summer at the culinary academy in Nice.”
“Yeah, but I thought you only did that to sleep with Jean Renuoit’s daughter.”
“I did,” he explained patiently, fingers blurring over the keys. “But after she fell asleep each night, I went downstairs to train with the masters.”
He sent off the order and turned back to me with a triumphant grin. A grin I returned with an exasperated smile, shaking my head as I looked him up and down.
“You went downstairs to train with the masters. Of course you did.”
“Do you want to see me cook?” he asked. “I promise to blow you away.”
“Okay. As long as you promise to cook naked.”
“You don’t think I will?”
I laughed. “With you, I never know.”
He softly patted my ass. “Now go on. Get out of here. I must cook you something wonderful.”
I smiled.
JUST TWO HOURS LATER, I wandered downstairs in a loose dress and slippers. Nick had insisted that I go upstairs and take a bath so as not to disturb his ‘process,’ and by the time I made it back down—the table was set, the wine was poured, and some of the most delicious smells I could imagine were wafting invitingly from the kitchen.
Of course, when I rounded the corner, Nick wasn’t wearing any pants.
...for fuck’s sake, Hunter.
The man never listened to me!
I stopped dead in my tracks, clamping a hand over my mouth so I wouldn’t laugh out loud. He was facing away from me, stirring something delicious on the stove, so for a moment, I was able to just stand there and unabashedly stare.
All he was wearing was an apron over boxers. The rest of his clothes were in a pile on the floor—it was fucking adorable.
He had a spoon in one hand. A glass of wine in the other. And every now and then, he would set one of them down to sprinkle another dash of spice to the sauce sizzling on the stove.
I was smitten. Absolutely smitten.
“Is that how the masters did it?”
He jumped in his skin, then turned around with a wry smile.
“I’m under no obligation to give away their secrets. You’ll have to go to France yourself if you want to find out for sure.”
I padded up behind him as he turned back to the stove, and wrapped my arms around his waist—planting a soft kiss in the center of his back.
“Maybe I will...”
He stiffened almost imperceptibly, then made a conscious effort to move past it.
Was I crazy? Or was someone as thrown by these casual displays of affection as me?
“Wine?” he offered.