After I finish with the shower, I blow dry my hair and throw on a robe. The smell of bacon greets me when I step out of the bathroom. Mystified, I hurry down to the kitchen.
I can’t believe my eyes. Sebastian stands in front of the stove, wearing nothing but shorts. Cooking.
“What are you doing?”
“Breakfast. And then I’ll happily do you again.”
“You cook?” I ask unnecessarily. I can’t shake off the surprise. Tiptoeing around him, I peer at what he’s doing. Yep, my man is cooking. There are bacon and eggs in the pan, which he moves around very proficiently, as though he’s on some cooking show, demonstrating how to do it correctly.
“Of course, I do. Everyone who was tall enough to stand over the stove had cooking duty at the ranch.”
“You’re amazing.”
“We established that already.”
I elbow him. “Cocky much?”
“Pun intended?” Sebastian smiles, those delicious dimples making an appearance again.
“Maybe.” I plant a small kiss on the corner of his mouth.
“You are naughty.”
“Can I help you with anything?”
“Is there anything you can do in the kitchen?”
“I’m an expert at heating stuff up in the microwave. I’m also very proficient at cutting and burning myself.”
“Thought so.”
“What do you mean?”
“You have a lot of talents, but you didn’t strike me as the cooking type.”
“What kind of talents?”
“Why, Ms. Lindt, are you fishing for compliments now?”
“After we established that you’re amazing in every department, and I suck at cooking? You bet I want compliments.”
He turns away from the oven, looking me straight in the eyes. “You are smart, funny, and can do amazing things with your mouth. Sit there and let me cook for you.”
This is the first time a man has cooked for me. Damn it. There are too many first times with him, and he has a way of making them all unforgettable. Because really, who could forget the sight of him in boxers, cooking?
After we eat breakfast, I help clean up, and as I sip from my glass of orange juice, enjoying the view out his window, Sebastian sneaks behind me, taking me in his arms and nibbling at my earlobe. His fingers graze through my hair, tugging at it.
“I love your hair,” he murmurs against my neck.
“Last night you loved my skin.”
“I love every part of you.”
“Mmmm. Charmer. Are you complimenting me to get in my panties?”
“You’re not wearing any. But if you were, you bet I’d try. I’m not lying. You’re perfect.”
I snicker. I’m proud of my body, but I know it’s not perfect. My love for food and disproportionate hate of sports are showing.