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Her words were stiff, they didn’t invite any further inquiry.
“They were happy,” he clarified, feeling a little uneasy at the confidences he’d shared, given the fact he didn’t make a habit of discussing his family with anyone, generally.
“But you think she muted herself for him?”
“Yes.”
Maddie nodded slowly. “That happens, doesn’t it?”
Did it? Nico shifted his shoulders. “I have very limited experience in relationships.” And the one time he’d actually opened himself up to one, he’d learned what a foolish idea that had been.
“Really?”
“Mmmm. Too busy with world domination.” He wiggled his brows, making light of it rather than going into the sordid, sad truth, and she laughed softly – he was glad to see it, glad to see the little lines of tension around her eyes ease.
“Do you have any stock?”
“Um, I think there’s some in the freezer? The landlady keeps dropping things off. I think she’s trying to fatten me up.”
He pulled the freezer open and discovered the stock she’d mentioned. It was a large block. “I’m going to need another pot,” he teased, turning around and deliberately taking his time reaching for a saucepan from the top of cupboard.
She was unashamedly ogling him so he dumped the stock as quickly as he could, put the heat on the stove and then delivered a challenging glance to her as he stripped his shirt. “It was a little wet,” he offered with mock apology.
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Are you?”
“Nope.” She grinned. “Not even a little bit.”
His laugh was a husky sound. Their eyes met and he felt it – a promise passed between them, a simmering, sensual heat that would be answered, and soon.
He rushed the melting of the stock, and when it was only halfway done, added it to the tomatoes – trying not to think of what Yaya would say about such an ill-advised corner-cutting – then turned the heat on the tomatoes right down.
“That’s going to take around a half hour to simmer and soften.”
“Thirty minutes?” She lifted her brows and pushed off the bench, coming towards him. “Goodness. What should we do while we wait?”
“Do you have any board games? Monopoly?” He prompted, reaching for her shirt and pushing it over her head. Madre di Dio, she wasn’t wearing a bra. How had he failed to notice that before now?
“Scrabble’s more my thing.”
“I’m not surprised.” He pulled her towards him so her breasts flattened against his chest, her softness to his hair-roughened hardness. “How about twister?”
“No board, but I think we could get inventive.”
“Me too. Where’s your bedroom?”
Chapter 5
THE SOUP WAS DELICIOUS. After they’d made love, and God, it had been even more mind-blowing than the first time they’d come together, he’d gone back to the kitchen. And he’d sung while he cooked, so she learned something else about him. Not only did he know his way around a recipe, he liked rock songs from the nineties. There was a Metallica one first, then some Nirvana, then some Radiohead. She smiled as she listened, pretty sure he didn’t even realise he was singing.
She set the table on the terrace. It was still raining, but this space was undercover and it was a beautiful, balmy temperature. The air smelled of electricity, making her think of books she’d read about exotic, tropical places where summer storms like this were de rigeur.
When he presented the soup with a ‘voila’, she stared at it. Because it looked…
“Kind of disgusting, I know,” he supplied, before she could say it.
And it did.
