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I sighed before I crossed the room, wearing leggings and a sweater that exposed one shoulder. Since I was home without company, I ditched the bra. Because what kind of woman wore a bra when she was home?
I glanced through the peephole.
“What the…?” It was Bartholomew. At my apartment. Without an invitation. In his signature black look, he looked like a shadow that had crawled straight out of the darkness. The sun was just about to set, so it must have been the start of his day. “Why are you here?”
“I’d rather talk to you instead of the door.”
“Well, the door’s gonna have to do because you have no business being here.” He hadn’t left anything behind, so he hadn’t returned to claim forgotten items. He was there for another purpose—a purpose I wouldn’t entertain.
“You think I can’t get past this flimsy piece of wood?”
“I’m sure you can. But you can’t get past me.”
A full grin moved on to his handsome face, unable to contain his amusement. “You have a way with words that really gets to me.” The peephole limited my vision, but he seemed to slide his hands into the pockets of his jacket, getting comfortable outside my door.
He wasn’t going anywhere.
I took a deep breath and sighed before I let him in.
His eyes locked on mine the second he could see me. The smile had already disappeared, and now I met the intense stare that had caught my attention when he’d stepped into my shop. I should have known what he was then, because a man didn’t command the room like that unless he wassomebody. Somebody who wasn’t afraid to ruffle feathers, to tell people what to do, to say what others didn’t want to hear. He entered my apartment and shut the door behind him, his boots distinct on my hardwood.
I already felt like I was out of my element the second we breathed the same air—and he was inmyapartment. It’d been over a week since we’d said goodbye. A long night of good sex that filled my tank all the way. I knew I shouldn’t have gotten involved with him, even just for the night, but it’d certainly been worth it.
But now, I wasn’t so sure.
He glanced at the table. “Am I interrupting?”
“Are you looking for an invitation?”
He stepped closer to me, tall and slender, smelling like pine and soap…and gunpowder. It was a very specific smell you wouldn’t recognize unless you’d been around it your entire life…like I had. “If your cooking tastes anything like your pussy, then yes.”
I hid my reaction as best as I could, but I struggled. Only a man like him could pull off a line like that. Why did all the good fucks come from bad guys? I went for the same type of guy over and over. I’d done it again when I’d kneeled right at his cock to get those measurements I didn’t even need in the first place. I could figure it out just by looking at him. He had the measurements of a model. The height at over six feet. The broad, masculine shoulders. The body fat percentage that was less than six percent.
I walked away to the stove and made him a plate. Then I placed it across from me at the table.
He approached the chair and stared at the plate. A piece of chicken breast sauteed in a white wine sauce with a side of mashed potatoes and broccolini. “A woman who knows how to fuck and cook… I’m a lucky man.” His eyes lifted to me as he dropped his coat off his shoulders and arms. He set it on the back of the chair and took a seat, his strong arms on display in the black t-shirt he wore. Cords ran up his ripped arms and the sides of his neck. The guy must live on a strict diet of only meat and booze to look like that.
I took a seat too, our eyes now level. I closed the laptop between us then cut into my chicken.
He helped himself to my glass of wine.
We ate in silence, like we were on a very tense first date.
He stared at me the entire time, especially when he chewed his food. “Where’d you learn?”
“To cook?” I asked. “Or to fuck?”
That half grin spread across his cheeks, softening the hardness of his face. “Both.”
“The internet for cooking. And experience for fucking.”
We ate for another stretch of silence, exchanging looks across the table.
“How’s work?” he asked.
“Busy. As the sole employee, it never ends. How’s the drug empire?”
“Good,” he said. “But it’s always good.”
