Page 40 of Tempted By the Princess

It wasn’t fancy, but the lady at the liquor store told me it would go with just about anything that Genny cooked.

“Great, thank you.”

She grabbed the bottle, set it on the little table by the door, and practically threw herself at me.

My back collided with the front door, and I wrapped my arms around Genny’s waist as she pressed her body against mine and pulled my face down for a kiss. At this point in our relationship, I shouldn’t have been surprised by the way my entire body lit up every time we kissed, yet I was.

We kissed until we were both breathless, until my nipples were hard points pressed against my bra and my panties were damp with arousal. These weeks of abstinence had been killing me. I hoped her enthusiastic greeting meant that she was ready for more.

“Well, you really know how to greet a girl,” I joked.

“Let me show you around,” Genny said. “It’s open concept, as you can see. The living area is over here.”

She walked me over to where a soft leather sectional was positioned so one side faced the window and the other side faced the large television screen mounted on the wall. A low glass coffee table sat on a throw rug in front of the couch, softening the effect of the stark white walls and dark wood floors.

She pointed at a dark wood table surrounded by four chairs, the kitchen visible on the other side of a half wall with a long counter.

“The bathroom is the second door on the right, next to the guest room,” she continued, leading me down the hallway. “And this is the master bedroom.”

Genny’s bedroom reminded me of what heaven must be like. A giant four poster bed was in the center, gauzy white material draped over the top. The comforter was white and fluffy, and she had no fewer than six throw pillows on the bed, all in shades of pink and white. When I stepped into the room, my feet sank into the thick carpeting. One whole wall of the room was windows, giving an incredible view of the Seattle skyline.

“Nice room,” I said.

“My sister says it’s too white,” she confided. “But I like it.”

We made our way back to the living room, sitting across from each other on the couch and talking while we waited for dinner to finish cooking. Whatever it was, it smelled good, with hints of lemon and oregano.

The timer on Genny’s phone rang and she shot up out of her seat like it was electrified.

“The food’s ready,” she announced.

I followed her to the kitchen, but she handed me a bottle opener and waved me out. “Pour the wine and sit down, I’ll be right there.”

After pouring us each a glass of wine, I took the plastic wrap off the salad and mixed it up a bit to gather any dressing that had fallen to the bottom of the bowl. It looked kind of dry, but maybe she was planning to add the dressing later.

Genny came out with a dish filled with chicken breasts, potatoes, and broccoli.

“That smells delicious,” I said.

“Help yourself.”

I spooned out some potatoes and broccoli, noting that everything was a little too brown, telling me that it was probably overcooked. Hopefully, it was just charred on the outside, and the inside was still edible. I slid a piece of chicken onto my plate, then waited for Genny to serve herself before lifting my glass of wine.

“To the chef,” I said.

“To the guest,” she countered.

I knew something was wrong as soon as I stuck my fork into the chicken. Even though it was dark on the outside, it was still hard. I watched as Genny came to the same realization.

“What the hell?” she mumbled. “It’s still frozen on the inside.”

She turned her chicken over to reveal a blackened bottom. “Oh crap, it’s burned too. I think I forgot to turn down the oven.”

“How high was it?” I asked carefully.

“Well I turned it up to five hundred to preheat it faster, but I forgot to turn it back down to three seventy five.”

I rolled my lips in to keep from laughing. “Just so you know, setting the oven at a higher temperature doesn’t make it heat up any faster.”