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In response, he leans forward and places a quick kiss on my lips. When he looks at me again, there’s a playful twinkle in his eye. “My mistake. What I should’ve said is that I remember you being quite, um, wet last night.”

“Brad!”

I slap him playfully on the chest and turn away to hide my pink cheeks. It’s such a damn turn-on when he talks like that. I’m embarrassed to let him see how it affects me.

He laughs behind me and follows me to the kitchen. “You didn’t have to cook for me, but I admit, it smells really great. What are we having?”

“Chicken piccata, fresh green beans, and a salad. I just need to finish putting the salad together. You can pour us some wine while you wait.”

I walk over to the counter where the vegetables are waiting. I don’t hear Brad come up behind me. So, when he snakes an arm around me from behind and pulls me to him, I’m caught off guard. His lips graze the side of my neck, and I push back against him. “I’m not hungry for dinner yet. How about if we work up an appetite first?”

I moan against him as he pushes his erection tight against my ass. “Brad…”

“That’s right. I want you to say my name. I want you to say it as I push into you over and over again. I can’t be around you for five minutes without getting hard as a fucking brick.”

He’s grinding against me, and I’m pushing back into him. “Brad,” I whisper. “What are you doing?”

It’s a rhetorical question. The hot pool of creamy arousal in my panties tells me I know exactly what he’s doing. He’s trying to drive me wild, and it’s working. He kisses and sucks the back of my neck while his hand is on my breast, squeezing and rubbing the sensitive nipple.

His other hand reaches down and grabs the hem of my skirt, and the cool air hits my thighs as he slowly moves his hand up along my bare leg.

I gulp in the air as I try to bring myself back to reality. It’s hard to do when his hand is caressing my hip and slipping into the upper band of my panties. His fingers are inches from… focus. I need to focus on making dinner and not letting him make me into his dinner.

Gathering all of my willpower, I reluctantly swat his hands away. “Down, boy. Dinner first, and then, if you’re good, you’ll get dessert.”

Brad groans out loud but backs away. “I prefer dessert first, then dinner,” he grumbles. He busies himself with pouring our wine.

“Poor baby. We have rules in this house.”

“Rules are meant to be broken,” he says roughly.

The smoldering heat from his eyes bore into me as he watched my movements around the kitchen. It’s hard to control my out-of-control hormones when he’s looking at me like that. He’s like a tiger, waiting to pounce at the first opportunity. All it would take is a simple look of invitation, and he’d be on me in a second. On me or in me?

“Here, come get the salads and put them on the table,” I tell him.

He doesn’t say anything but complies with my request. He takes the salads and puts them on the table. Without asking, he lights the candles I had previously set up and dims the lights.

When he comes back to help with the plates, he seems a tad more relaxed. The forced self-restraint appears to have done him some good. “This smells fantastic. I didn’t know you knew how to cook like this.”

“I’ve learned a few things since you’ve been gone,” I say.

He smiles. “So it would seem.”

We sit down to eat at opposite ends of the table, and we both dig into our food. The chicken piccata turned out great, and Brad seems to be enjoying it. After several fortifying sips of wine, I work up the courage to begin the conversation that has been lingering on my mind all day.

“So, did you have a lot of meetings today?” I ask.

Brad takes a sip of wine before answering. “Not really. Just two meetings. I’m hoping I’ll be able to wrap things up soon and not have to work anymore on this trip.”

“It sounds like you got a lot accomplished.”

He looks away for a second and shifts in his chair. “Um, yeah, I guess.”

Brad seems uncomfortable with my questions. Alarm bells go off in my head, and suddenly, all the earlier doubts creep back in. Am I wrong about him? Is there something going on with him and Monica?

“Were you at the cafe today? I walked by there and could’ve sworn I saw you.”

Brad takes another sip of wine and doesn’t answer immediately. For a minute, I get the feeling he’s going to lie. Luckily, he doesn’t.