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Huh, that made sense. I chopped, and she glanced up periodically to check my progress. I kept my eyes on my task since I didn’t want to lose a finger, but my concentration wavered. Her sweet scent was all around, and I wanted to know how she tasted. Everywhere.
She moved around me as we worked, and I was constantly aware of her. She was like a magnet I was helpless to avoid. We didn’t talk much because I was no longer clueless in the kitchen. She had rearranged the drawers so I could find the knives, the spatulas, the Microplane, and more. She gave directions, and I followed them. I loved a woman who told me what she wanted. It was hot as shit, is what it was.
Everything about her was hot. From her stubborn independence to the bow on her top lip. Her long, sure fingers moving quickly across a cutting board, her ass when she leaned over the island to wipe up crumbs, and the way her tits shifted under that damn coat when she taught me to sauté, shaking the pan to flip the contents. I was drawn to her in ways I’d never felt before.
“Okay. That’s it for this week.” She walked toward the front of the house. “Remember, thaw the frozen crab cakes about fifteen minutes, lightly coat with the spray ghee or olive oil, and dust them with a little crushed panko. Good to go in the air fryer.”
“Jo, I …” I wasn’t sure what I wanted to say, but I didn’t want her to go.
She stopped unbuttoning the white jacket and looked at me.
“Want to stay and eat?” I asked. “You cook fresh for me and go home to warm leftovers. Why don’t you stay and eat?”
Her eyes flashed, and she bit her lip.
“Thank you, some other time maybe. I have a big event with the laundry tonight.” She removed the chef’s coat and put on a thick hoodie and rain shell.
“Jo, about the other day.”I was wondering if we could repeat it with both of us naked.
She didn’t look at me as she bent to collect the rest of her things. “You don’t have to say anything, Lucas. Accidents happen. Let’s move on, focus on the cooking.”
She used her free hand to pull on her knit hat, pink, of course. As usual, her wild curls were resisting. I stepped forward to help her and our fingers connected. Warmth flowed up my arm. I wanted to pull her to me and kiss her with everything I had. I froze, captured by the gold flecks of fire in her eyes before I skimmed her soft hair.
She licked those lips I wanted to taste, and the pulse in her neck fluttered. One move, and I could sink my hands into all those silky strands. I could capture her mouth and drink her in.
“I’ll see you next week, Lucas.” And the door closed behind her.
There was no way I could keep standing next to her and simply cook. I wanted her, and she wanted me too if that pulse was any indication. I wasn’t her boss. We had a deal, the rules and finances already established. There was no power play here. I wasn’t a douche scheming on her at work. Okay, I sort of was, but this feeling, this level of desire, was new to me. She wasn’t some girl in a bar or even a tech groupie looking for an all-expenses-paid good time. I had no idea how to do this.
14
LUCAS
I walkedto the kitchen from the front door, still wearing my coat. It had been two days since I almost kissed her, and Jo was here cooking for herself. Per our agreement, she cooked here a couple of afternoons a week to prepare her own meals or try out new recipes, usually desserts.
She always texted when she was here. No more surprises, unfortunately. I loved coming home to the scent of vanilla or sugar filling the air, though. It was like the essence of Jo lingered in the house along with an actual almond cake sometimes. I couldn’t get enough of that cake or her smell.
“How about a burger?” I said as Jo packed containers of some delicious thing. “I’ve had a helluva day, and I want to be waited on and eat food I didn’t cook and don’t have to clean up. Come with me.”
“Um, okay. I need to drop this stuff at home first.”
“How about The Boathouse? Play some pool or table shuffleboard? I could use the distraction.”
She nodded. “Sounds good. I’ll meet you there.”
I was having dinner with a woman, and I knew more about her than the brand of shoes she wore. Sassy and curvy Jo. My blood was warm in my veins. I did have a helluva day and the idea of being with her, talking with her, eased my lousy mood.
I liked her. Her strength, her passion, the food she cooked, and the care she put into it for others. She was doing good in the world and doing it her way. I admired that. Before the Cole shit show, I was doing good in the world too. Maybe not always my own way, but the deals I helped make happen supported the production of products that made people’s lives better every day. I was damn proud of that and really wanted to get back to it. It’s what I was meant to do.
The warmth of The Boathouse welcomed me from the damp dark outside. I slid onto a stool at the bar and ordered a bourbon. About fifteen minutes later, she slipped into the seat next to me.
“Hey,” Jake looked at Jo. “What can I bring you?”
“An old-fashioned.” She rapped her knuckles on the bar in decision.
“Any particular bourbon?” The tatted-up bartender gestured to the shelf above the bar prep area.
She looked over the options. “Your choice.”
