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“He’s the king to her queen. It just took them a few fucked up years as enemies to figure it out.”
There was a story there, for sure, but I didn’t really want to talk about them. I wanted to learn more about the enigma that was Z.
“I guess that makes you the prince of The Whitney?”
I love his hearty laughter. My core tightens watching his already handsome face break into a spontaneous smile that bumps him from a ten to an eleven on the hotness meter.
“More like the hidden kitchen rat,” he says, shaking his head in humor.
“I call bullshit.” And I mean it.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me. I’ve heard Katja and Dex talking about you, long before JV even broke into my room. They depend on you. Trust you. Don’t put yourself down like that. It pisses me off.”
His grin wanes, replaced with a softer smile. Our eyes meet and I hope I’m projecting just how much I truly believe what I just said.
Ignoring my outburst, he tries to change the subject. “So, do you cook?”
“I wish. I always wanted to spend time in the kitchen, but my mother frowned upon it. Did your mom teach you?”
The smile on his face slips and I know it’s a bad subject. If I was polite, I’d let it drop.
When he remains quiet, I add, “Z?”
He pauses long enough to start plating the spaghetti before answering. “I never knew my mom.” He reaches to hand my plate to me before walking around to sit at the place I set for him next to me at the bar.
I assume he’s said all he plans to on the subject so it surprises me when he adds, “She couldn’t handle what my dad did for a living.”
How fucked up is that? “So, she just left you with him?”
He blows on his pasta to cool it off before taking a bite and then finally answering. “He never talked about her. Dex is the one who told me that my dad took me from her when I was just a baby. Knowing how terrifying my father could be with most people, I don’t really blame her for being too afraid to go against him.”
My heart breaks for him, never having any relationship with his mother. We each take a few bites in silence.
“This is really good,” I compliment him.
“Don’t go crazy. It’s simple tomato sauce and spaghetti.”
I know better. I’ve eaten at some of the best Italian restaurants in the city, but I let it go. I can tell he isn’t comfortable taking a compliment.
“How did you learn to cook anything? You don’t even have a kitchenette in your room,” I ask.
“Growing up in a hotel has its advantages. Most kids went home after school and played in their yards or rode their bikes around their neighborhoods. I came home and hung out in the kitchen at least a few days a week. The executive chef back then used to say he spent more time with me than his own kids. He’d put me on the prep line chopping vegetables on busy nights. I’m convinced he just loved the free labor.”
We both laugh at the image until he adds, “Years later, my dad teased me that all that time using knives was good practice for chopping up things.”
Our chuckles die down quickly as images of JV’s dead body lying in a pool of blood almost ruin my appetite.
We finish our meal in silence. I catch him looking at the burner phone sitting next to his glass of water several times, just another reminder that we aren’t on vacation here at the beach. He doesn’t say it, but he is worried that Dex hasn’t called yet.
Trying to keep both of our minds off the Lucianos, I offer, “You cooked. I’ll clean up.”
I see shock in his eyes, but he smartly doesn’t tease me. Within minutes, I have the sink full of water and am washing our plates when he grabs a towel and starts drying.
“Thanks, Zeus,” I tease, loving his laughter. “What? That’s not it? How about Zander?”
“Not even close,” he jokes just before he snaps his towel across my ass.
“Shit! That hurt!” I grab my stinging butt, flinging soapy water in his direction in the process.
Our playful laughter from before returns as he snaps the towel at me again, this time missing, giving me time to try to wrestle the towel from his hand.
Play time comes to a halt as his lips crashing into my own drown out our laughter. Z presses my body backwards until I’m trapped between the hard kitchen counter and an even harder wall of muscle. I take the chance to run my wet fingers through his short hair, pulling him closer while he grinds his hips enough for me to feel the outline of his hard cock. Giddy with excitement, a moan of desire escapes just as I feel his hand roaming over my chest, squeezing my breast through my top.
