“Something smells amazing,” she said, coming into the room. “Did you cook for me?”
“I did,” he said, bending down to lift the dish he’d made from the oven.
“Oh my, did you make your moussaka?” she asked, coming closer and inhaling deeply. “I haven’t had that since—”
And there it was again. That sudden halt in her train of thought. The words she left unspoken. He wondered what she’d have continued to say if she’d left herself unchecked.
“Since?” he prompted.
“Since you made it last, which was a while ago,” she replied smoothly. “I’m looking forward to it. Shall I set the table?”
“All done.”
“Wow, you’re organized tonight.”
“You were busy, and I didn’t have anything else urgently claiming my attention,” he joked. “Come on—we’re eating in the dining room.”
Carrying the dish, he led the way to the room he’d prepared with fresh-cut spring flowers and their best crockery and cutlery. A bottle of sparkling wine chilled in an ice bucket and tall crystal flutes reflected the glint of the light from above.
“Are we celebrating?” she asked.
“I’ve been home a month, I thought it appropriate.”
“I feel like I should change,” Olivia said, plucking at her paint-spattered shirt and jeans. “You’ve gone to so much bother.”
“It wasn’t a bother and—” he let his gaze sweep her body “—you look perfect to me.”
A flush rose on her throat and her cheeks. “Thank you,” she said quietly.
Xander put the dish on the table and took a step toward her. He raised one hand, cupped her jaw and tilted her face to meet his. “I mean it. You’re perfect for me.”
Then he kissed her. It started out gentle but swiftly deepened into something much more intense. His arms closed around her, and her body molded to his, igniting a sense of rightness that swept over him like a drenching wave. Needs that had been suppressed for weeks unfurled, sending hunger hurtling through his veins that had nothing to do with the meal waiting on the table for them and everything to do with this woman here in his arms.
Xander wanted nothing more than to push all the accoutrements from the table and lay Olivia on its surface. To feast on her and slake the appetite that demanded satiation. But he wanted their first time back together since his accident to be special, and he’d been planning this all day long. He was nothing if not a planner, and he knew that the long-term satisfaction gained would be all the sweeter for not rushing a single moment.
Slowly, gently, he eased back on the passion—loosening his hold on her and taking her lips now in tiny sipping kisses. After a few seconds he rested his forehead on hers. His breath was as unsteady as his hands, and desire for her still clamored from deep within his body.
“Now we’ve had our appetizer, perhaps we should move to the main course,” he suggested, aiming for a light note that—judging by the languorous look in Olivia’s eyes—he may have missed entirely.
“If you still cook as good as you kiss, dinner is going to be wonderful,” Olivia said dreamily.
“Still?”
There was that hint of something he was missing again. They’d always taken turns cooking and often cooked together. But something in the way she said it made it sound as though she hadn’t eaten his cooking in a long time.
“Oh, you know,” she said with a flutter of her hand and stepped away from him, her gaze averted. “You’ve forgotten a lot of things—what if cooking is one of them?”
As an attempt at humor it fell decidedly flat, but Xander chose not to pursue it right now. Instead he tucked it away in the back of his mind, along with the other inconsistencies, to be examined another time. Tonight was meant to be a celebration, and he wasn’t going to spoil that for any reason.
“I’m pretty sure you’re safe from food poisoning,” he said with a smile and held out her chair.
Once she was seated, he opened the sparkling wine and poured them each a glass. After taking his seat, he raised his crystal flute and held it toward Olivia.
“To new beginnings,” he said.
She lifted her glass and quietly repeated the toast before clinking her flute against his. He watched her over the rim of his glass as they drank, taking in the shape of her brows, the feminine slant of her eyes and the neat straight line of her nose. Her features were exquisite, dainty, until you reached the ripe fullness of her mouth, which hinted strongly at her own appetites. Her lips glistened with a little moisture from her wine, and he ached to lean forward and taste them again. He reminded himself anew that the best things in life were to be savored, not rushed.