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I slid out of the bed and made my way back downstairs. His shirt was on the floor where he’d left it, so I pulled it on and stepped into the kitchen. I’d already defrosted the chicken, so I added the spices then threw it in the pan. After a few more ingredients, I had chicken piccata.
“You can shoot, and you can cook. Perfect woman.”
I turned around to see Cato standing there in his black boxers. With lean muscle bulging everywhere, he looked even sexier naked than he did in a full suit. I turned off the pan then scooped the chicken, tomatoes, and pasta onto two plates. “You don’t know if I can shoot.”
“But you handle a gun like you can.” He carried the plates to the kitchen table.
I opened a bottle of wine and poured two glasses.
“I thought you were a scotch kind of woman?” He sat down and took a drink of his wine.
“I am. But if I drank like that all the time, my aim would be off.” I sat across from him then cut into my dinner.
“A lot of people break in to your house?” he asked incredulously.
“You never know.”
He took a few bites while keeping his eyes on me. Just as he did when we were fucking, he watched me with that same hint of possessiveness. “You’re a great cook.”
“Thank you.”
“You can fuck. You can cook. You can shoot. Triple threat.”
“Not if you’re the one who pissed me off. I might shoot you then cook you.”
He grinned. “If you fucked me first, I probably wouldn’t mind.”
The more I got to know Cato Marino, the more I liked him. He was cold and empty when I first met him, just a hollow shell with few desires. But now he was a real man, one with confidence and a sense of humor. He even smiled once in a while. It was a much better version than the one I’d originally met. “So, no more barging into my house, alright?”
“Why?”
“What do you mean, why? This is my home, my property, and my privacy.”
“You watch a lot of porn or something?”
“Some. Not a lot.” I pointed my fork at him. “And that’s not the point.”
He was about to take a bite, but he lowered his fork and stared at me with a searing gaze. “Whoa, let’s back up.”
“What? That I watch porn? Women like it too. A lot of women.”
He set his utensils down like he needed all his bearings to continue the conversation. “Is that what you were doing before I walked in?”
“No. But it would be none of your business if I were.”
“How often do you watch it?”
Maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned it at all since that was all he could focus on because he was a pig. “Doesn’t matter.”
“I just don’t see why a woman like you would need to watch it at all. You can get laid as much as you want, anytime you want.”
I shrugged. “Sometimes you like to be by yourself.”
He closed his eyes for a brief moment, as if he couldn’t handle the comment I’d just made. “Jesus, you’re killing me.” He grabbed his glass and took a long drink. “I just eye-fucked your asshole while I fucked you, and now I’m so hard up it’s like I didn’t fuck you twice in the first place.”
I continued to eat. “All of this wouldn’t have happened if you’d just knocked.”
“I learned my lesson—I’ll never knock again.” His eyes narrowed on me, full of unstoppable arousal.
“Well, if you pull a stunt like that again, I’ll shoot you.”
“That’ll only make me want you more.” It didn’t seem like an idle threat. It seemed like he’d never meant anything more in his life.
I broke eye contact first because his intensity was too much. I’d never been with a man I couldn’t match. But my strength, intellect, and wit weren’t nearly as strong as his. This man had more power and confidence than I ever would. He fucked like he went to school for it, and he made me swoon like he was my soul mate. “It’s crazy to think you let me walk out of your apartment that one night.”
“Yes. Biggest mistake I ever made.”
“And here we are…eating dinner together.”
“An excellent dinner.” He finished his entire plate then washed it down with his wine. “Baby.”
My eyes moved up to meet his, instantly responding to the nickname he gave me at some point. I didn’t like possessive nicknames like that, unless it was from a man I was madly in love with. I would have told him to stop, but he never would.
He nodded to my left shoulder. “Tell me how that happened.”
I knew he was asking about the gunshot wound. It was still a fairly recent injury, and it would leave a noticeable scar forever. I was surprised he hadn’t asked about it until now. He probably didn’t bed too many women with gunshot wounds. “I had an accident a long time ago.”
