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“No, I love pasta. I just don’t eat it very often.”
“Why does that not surprise me?” She shakes her head.
“What is that supposed to mean?” I quirk a brow.
“You don’tlooklike a man who indulges often… At least not in pasta.” She swallows hard.
“Well, I’m very much looking forward to indulging inyourpasta.”
“Good, because my pasta is the best.” She crinkles her nose, exiting the elevator the instant the doors slide open, clearly missing my double meaning. Or at least, I think she missed it.
I follow her to her door, then inside her condo, breathing in the sweet scent of vanilla that seems to permeate from every corner of the unit. I tried to find the source last time I was here. An air freshener, a candle, wax melts, anything to explain why it smelled so damn good, but nothing was obvious to me.
I close the door, flipping the deadbolt before joining Clarke in the kitchen. She takes the bags from me, setting them on the counter before she begins to empty them one item at a time.
“I don’t have any beer or anything here, otherwise I’d offer you one. But if you’re interested, I do have some red wine.” She moves around the kitchen effortlessly, pulling open drawers and cabinets as she collects everything she needs.
“Actually, a water would be good.”
“You sure?” She stops, throwing me a sideways glance over her shoulder. “I did just find you leaving a bar at four in the afternoon.”
“Momentary lapse. I’m good now.”
And oddly enough, I am… Good.
It’s the strangest fucking thing. I walked into the bar on the verge of a panic attack, left it dangling by a thread, and now I feel totally fucking fine.
I look at the woman standing in front of me.
I’ve never met someone so hot and cold. Hell, I’ve never met anyone that was anything but hot for me. But in all her indecisiveness, there’s something oddly comforting about Clarke Hamilton. I don’t know how to explain it, but I’m sure as shit not going to question it.
Kat’s right. She’s the one. This proves why. Because when she saw me exiting that bar, she saw something most people wouldn’t have seen—a man ripping apart at the seams, and without even realizing it, she picked up the needle and started sewing me back into place. Because that’s just who she is.
That’s why Kat and Helen chose her.
Suddenly everything makes so much more sense.
“You sure? Because you can talk to me if you want.”
“I’m good,” I insist.
“Well, if you’re sure, any chance I can get you to knead some dough for me after I get it mixed?” She bites her bottom lip to suppress a smile.
“You want me to dowhatwith dough?” I hold my hands up in front of myself.
The sweetest fucking sound fills the room, her laughter. It takes a few moments for it to dawn on me that this is the first time I’ve actually heard her laugh. And not some rehearsed laugh or little giggle, but her real laugh. I instantly harden against the seam of my jeans.
Fuck me…
“I like to make my own pasta but it needs to be kneaded for a few minutes. If you can do that, I can work on making the other components.”
“Tell you what, you tell me exactly what you need me to do and I promise I will do my best to not totally fuck it up.”
“Deal.”
She reaches past me, her tit rubbing my arm as she grabs a bowl off the counter behind me. We both pretend not to notice but it’s obvious we do. The sexual tension is thick in the air, palpable.
I watch the sexiest pink color touch her cheeks, and fuck me if it doesn’t turn me on even more. I take a deep inhale through my nose and slowly let it out, trying to hold onto my composure.
