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“I’m good. Can you check the pasta for me? It should be done.”
“Do you trust me to know that it’s cooked?” he asked as he shifted and lifted the lid off the saucepan.
“Use the fork there,” Astrid pointed to one resting on the counter. “Twirl a noodle around it and then toss it at the tile. If it’s done, it’ll stick. And the pasta will be perfect.”
“Al dente?” Growler queried as he followed her instructions.
“Ahh, you know your pasta.” She grabbed a small tasting spoon and dipped it into the sauce, lifting it to her lips. Astrid closed her eyes and tasted it.
Was that a moan?
Opening her eyes, Astrid caught the glint of silver out of the corner of her eye. Growler clenched the fork in his hand, a spaghetti noodle hanging limply from the tines. His lips slightly parted. Her heart raced when their gazes connected. Fire burned, deepening Growler’s chocolate brown eyes to a rich, dark chocolate. Astrid loved dark chocolate.
Her mouth dried, and her grip on the spoon slackened. “Callum?” she whispered, his given name slipping off her lips as if she always called him that.
“I like it when you call me that.” His voice was deep and growly.
Her body heated, and it wasn’t from standing over a hot range.
Her tongue darted out to lick her dry lips. The fork clattered to the ground, and Growler closed the distance between them. His fingers pried the small spoon from hers before framing her face.
Astrid’s breath caught in her throat as they continued to gaze at each other. Growler’s breath came out ragged. His eyes were so dark now they almost looked black. The look was intense and full of promise.
Promise of what?
Was he going to kiss her? How she wanted him to.
Or was he going to push her away—which made no sense, as he was the one who came at her, not the other way around?
It was almost as if he was fighting with himself. Wanting to do something but holding back due to a reason only known to him.
“I shouldn’t be doing this,” Growler muttered, as if he were having a conversation with himself.
There it was. Her assumptions were confirmed.
“Why not?” she asked, letting him know that she didn’t mind him touching her. Giving him permission to do whatever he wanted to do.
What she wanted was for him to kiss her. Astrid needed it after what they’d gone through today. Needed this touch, this personal connection to feel alive.
Safe.
Wanted.
Loved?
“Because it’s wrong. You’re a client. You’re my job. My first one with my new company, but I can’t resist.” He shuffled closer so that the tip of her breasts brushed the material of his t-shirt.
“Don’t resist.” Astrid placed her hands on his chest as Growler lowered his head toward hers.
The second his lips brushed hers, she woke up, as if she’d been asleep forever. Her body lit up with desire. She scrunched the fabric of his shirt, and she leaned closer so that their lower bodies were aligned. Growler’s mouth was firm and sure as it moved over hers. His tongue traced the seam of her mouth, and she opened, allowing him entrance.
His fingers slid from her cheeks around the back of her head to cup it, holding her still so that he could deepen the kiss. Nothing mattered to her but being held by him. Having his strong arms anchor her to him.
The pop of the sauce and the sting of hot liquid hitting her arm drew her back to the present. To the fact of how close they were to where she’d been preparing the meal. As if he could sense her withdrawing, Growler eased his mouth away from hers, lingering for a moment before putting a little space between them.
“You okay?” he asked as his thumb stroked her cheek lightly.
“More than.” A rush of uncertainty washed over her. “What about you?”
