Christmas with the Beast (The Fiore Family 1)

“And why he sent me here…”

“How about we eat some food, and then you can spread out your legs so I can feast on your sweet cunt that I’ve been dreaming of for two years.”

“Wow, um… if you want.”

“Do you not like that?” I don’t want to picture her with anyone else.

“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been with anyone.” My brain stalls for a moment and then I’m silently sending up a thank you to the fates who have us on even playing ground. “I actually had a date with a coworker the day after we met…” I want to stab that coworker. “But I canceled it, hoping that the look in your eyes and that kiss was as serious as it felt.”

“Isabelle, I swear I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life.”

“Franco, can the food wait? I need you now.”

“Are you well enough? I think you should eat first.”

“Are you stalling, Mr. Fiore?”

“No, my sweet. It is just that once I get you in bed, we won’t be leaving until Christmas morning. Hell, if the rest of the family doesn’t arrive, then we’ll spend the day making love by the fireplace because Rita will be too busy reading her books.”

“Wow. Okay. Fair enough. Sit down and tell me what you want to eat.” I wag my brows at her. “Ugh—not me, and not your favorite dish Tagliatelle al Ragù alla Bolognese either. That’s for the gathering.”

“That’s okay. I don’t need a lot.” I watch her movements, wanting her to cook for me and not at the same time because she should be resting. “How is your shoulder?”

“Better. I have good days and I have bad ones, but most of the bad have faded. Will grilled cheese sandwiches work?”

“Perfect.” She goes about the kitchen, learning the drawers and storage spots, finding the hidden walk-in pantry. I want her to feel like this is her home because it is.

“You know…it’s interesting. Fabio always seemed to know when I was overworking myself and would send someone to take over or do it himself. Nah. You couldn’t…” I stare at her with a guilty look on my face, and she has her answer. “Are you serious? You watched me that much?”

“I did say you were my obsession. I should be jailed for how often I stalked you. The thoughts I had…”

“What kind of thoughts?” Will she be frightened or excited? I can see the rosiness in her cheeks, and I know it has nothing to do with cooking.

I don’t answer right away. There’s just too much to be said, and not. She sets down the plate with four sandwiches on it. “Let’s just say that I wanted you here, and I was tempted to use any means necessary.”

“Ooh.” She presses her hand to her mouth and then finally speaks. “Would you have tied me up and kidnapped me, carrying me over your shoulder like a crazy caveman?”

“It was an option, but I’d never want to mar your skin with ropes. Perhaps a tie would make a better restraint.”

“Eat your food, Mr. Fiore, and just maybe we’ll see.” She licks her lips, swiping a crumb off them and I grunt, my dick banging against the underside of the granite countertop.

“You’re asking for it.”

“Should we call Rita for a sandwich?”

“Absolutely. We need a buffer between us because my dick is gonna break this granite.”

“Don’t go and do that. I love this counter, and I have a feeling I’m going to love your big, thick length as well.” She licks her lips again, and I’m going to lose it.

“You are a tease, woman.” I bring my phone to my ear after pressing Rita’s number. “We have grilled cheese.”

“On my way.”

We eat in silence, barely keeping our eyes off each other, tension radiating, needing release.

“Goodness, it smells fabulous. Thank you for the food. I thought I was going to have to live off of cereal until Francois returns,” Rita exclaims, coming into the room in a hurry and taking a seat at the island. “Oh my…this is incredible.”

“It’s just a simple grilled cheese.”

“I can’t cook, so this is gourmet as far as I’m concerned.” She takes a drink of a glass of milk that I didn’t see her pour.

“Thankfully, Franco rescued me. Speaking of cooking, I need to get this food put away to thaw. Do you think the roads will be cleared by morning?” Always the amazing chef being ready to cook for us.

I pull out my phone and check the radar. “No. It looks like we’re going to be spending Christmas alone, although I’d say they should be cleared to come on the twenty-sixth. Maybe they’ll make it by Christmas night, but let’s bet the next day.”

“Okay. That gives the meat proper time to thaw and marinate.” A look of upset crosses her face.