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Even while I wonder if I’m doing the right thing by letting our relationship get complicated, my body has no doubts at all. I wore white cotton panties again. I blush a little thinking of how I promised myself I would keep my distance from him, but still wore white cotton panties just on the off-chance that he would see them. I guess I knew how this was going to end, even if I wouldn’t admit it to myself.
“Whatever you’re making over there smells ridiculously good,” I say, eyes locked on his perfect ass.
He tosses a heap of vegetables and sauce skillfully in the skillet. The food sizzles and pops, bathing me in a delightful scent of something almost floral and sweet, like a good red wine cut through with butter. It has my stomach rumbling already. He checks something in the oven and knees the oven door shut, spinning around to finish chopping garlic. I twirl my hair as I watch him, marveling at how quickly my doubts are fading into background noise. This might be okay. Maybe I’ve been making too much out of nothing.
I think the thing that is giving me the most pause is how I can consolidate the kind of sex life a man like Logan offers and a normal relationship. I’m so incredibly drawn to the powerful, domineering side of him that comes out when he wants me, but how can he be both the dominant I need in the bedroom and the more normal, understanding kind of man I need outside of it? Maybe I could learn to love the charming, thoughtful, and almost kind side of Logan I see now. But wouldn’t that compromise my ability to fear him in the bedroom and quiver at his slightest touch?
I sigh quietly, nibbling on my thumbnail until I realize what I’m doing and stop, pressing my hands to the marble countertop to keep myself from fidgeting any more than I already am. Logan makes me feel batshit crazy. Like I’m being forced to choose between the sex life I never thought I’d have and the most perfect guy I never thought I’d deserve. Maybe I don’t though, but I’m starting to think if I have to, I’ll choose him. I made it this long without a real sex life, and I can make it the rest of my life if I have to.
“So you said we’re watching your favorite movie. Am I allowed to ask?”
He turns slightly, narrowing his eyes as he apparently decides if I get to know. “No. I think it should be a surprise.”
I laugh. “Should I be scared?”
“Probably,” he admits as he slides the chopped garlic into the sizzling pan and adds another layer of deliciousness to the smell. He flips the contents of the pan a few more times and then sets it off the burner.
He opens the oven and pulls out four bowls made out of pastry-dough. They are golden, flaky, and shimmering with a hint of oil and egg wash. My mouth waters just to look at them, and then he spoons some of the vegetables, beef, and sauce into each bowl, topping them with a handful of shredded cheese before sliding the pan back into the oven.
He moves to the cabinet and pulls out two wine glasses, setting one in front of me and then opening a door that leads to an entire pantry full of wine racks. He runs his finger thoughtfully over the bottles before finally selecting a beautiful bottle that’s probably incredibly expensive. He uncorks the bottle and swirls it, letting some air in. Logan pours us both a glass and raises his.
“To building trust,” he says, meeting my eyes.
I blush a little, clinking my glass against his. “Yeah. To trust.” I sip the wine and raise my eyebrows. “Wow. That’s really good.”
He smiles, jogging over to the living room and fishing out a DVD from a cabinet beside his huge television. He inserts the disk and jogs back to the kitchen to pull out the now perfectly cheese-crusted pastries full of meat, vegetables, and sauce. He plates one for each of us and nods toward the living room couch. “You don’t mind eating on the couch, do you?”
“I actually always eat on the couch,” I say. “Eating around a dinner table has never really been my thing.”
“My thoughts exactly,” he says.
We both take our spots on the loveseat and he shows me how to pop the recliner out.
“Oh my God. This couch is the most comfortable thing I’ve ever sat on,” I say.
He laughs. “Thanks. I think it was imported, but I had a woman from France take care of all the decorating. I don’t get to spend much time here.”
“I can imagine,” I say, thanking him as he hands me my plate. I set my wine glass on the end table to my left and try a forkful of the steaming pastry. The flavor explodes in my mouth. The melted cheese on top has a perfect bite and slightly crunchy texture around the edges, and the pastry is buttery and smooth. The meat inside has a faint sweetness from the wine and is cooked to absolute perfection. The vegetables add just the right amount of crunch and an earthiness that brings everything together. I swallow and turn to him, eyes wide.
