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“Just for next week,” Summer interrupted. “If things go well again then let’s discuss how we can make Friday dinners a regular thing, and add Saturday night dinner, too.”
“Now, just wait a min—” Brock’s voice had descended into his sexy growl.
Not that she was ever going to tell him she found it arousing rather than intimidating.
“I’m the boss for another fifteen hours,” Summer reminded him.
“And twenty minutes,” added Marlene.
He groaned loudly, but didn’t protest further.
∞∞∞
Brock: Hey. Got any plans for after work today?
Summer: Not really.
Summer: Why are you texting me from the walk-in?
Brock: Because if Marlene finds out about us, she’ll tell everyone in town.
Summer: Us? There’s an ‘us’? It wasn’t just a one-night stand?
Brock: It was. And now I want another one. I’ll cook you dinner. You like lasagna?
Summer: I *love* lasagna! Another one of your gran’s recipes?
Brock: Yup. Made with Italian sausage and ricotta. You’ll fucking love it.
Summer: Sounds delicious but fattening.
Brock: Yeah, well, I’ll help you work off the calories.
Brock: So, that’s a yes?
Summer: Yes. Should I plan to stay the night?
Brock: Definitely.
Summer: Okay, I’ll swing by the ranch after work and pack an overnight bag. I’ll pick up a loaf at Jenna’s for garlic bread, too.
Brock: Sounds great. Okay, I’m heading back into the kitchen. My balls are getting frostbite in here.
∞∞∞
The lasagna was delicious. So were the garlic bread and garden salad with a balsamic vinaigrette that Summer whisked up. The only thing missing from a perfect comfort food dinner was a glass of hearty red Sangiovese.
But in keeping with his vehement refusal to consider a liquor license for the diner, Brock kept no alcoholic beverages in his house. Now that she knew why, Summer didn’t mention it.
Later, after ice cream and dishes, she realized he was a cuddler.
They were in his bed, breath slowing and sweat drying after some extremely satisfying sex. Brock pillowed his head on her breast, one ridiculously muscled arm flung over her belly. Eyes closed, he stroked the curve of her hip as if he couldn’t get enough of touching her.
By this point, he’d thoroughly explored every inch of her… and she had the beard burn to prove it on her breasts, stomach, and the tender skin on the inside of her thighs. She didn’t mind—the scrape of his dark stubble had the ability to send darts of pleasure shooting along her spine.
In return, Summer ran her fingers through Brock’s short hair, letting her fingernails scratch lightly across his scalp.
He groaned with pleasure and snuggled closer. “Don’t stop. That feels fucking amazing.”
