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I nod, having trouble convincing myself that I need to be wary after that visualization. As I follow him downstairs, he says, “I hope you’re not a terror in the kitchen because this date isn’t me cooking for you.”
“I’ll have you know that I have only burned water twice. You’re completely safe.”
He shakes his head as he leads me into the kitchen, and I’m a little overwhelmed. It’s huge, probably big enough to be a restaurant kitchen. There are two stoves and eight burners. Two refrigerators stand next to each other, and the island has a massive sink with a stupidly tall faucet. “Do you do catering events regularly, or do you just feel the need to buy extra of everything? Seriously, there were twelve cars in your garage.”
He goes to a cabinet and pulls out two packages of manicotti shells. “I have a lot of money, so I make sure I have whatever I want. Who knows when I might need to cater something?” He shrugs. “Now, are you going to help me cook our dinner? I’ve been drooling over these crab manicotti recipes for hours.”
As he takes off his coat, I wonder what this is going to be like. I’ve never seen him do anything except talk. I don’t even think I’ve seen him without his coat on, and the buttons straining across his pecs make me question just what’s hiding under that shirt. A part of me is definitely more interested in answering that question more than eating dinner.
He grins at me as he starts a pot of water boiling. “Have you ever made crab manicotti?”
“Nope. I’ve only eaten it twice, actually. Sadly, they were both on vacation to Chicago during the summer of my junior year in college, and I haven’t found another place that sells it. I think I made that video right after I ate it.”
“Good, then you probably won’t even know if we screw it up. The ricotta and crab are in the fridge,” he says as he inspects the shells. His fridge is nearly empty other than a few takeout boxes and the bag of ingredients for tonight’s dinner.
When I turn around, Emery’s rolling up his sleeves, and I’m shocked at how thick his forearms are. Where didtheycome from? I didn’t think anyone who had the world eating out of their hand would have arms like that. As he rolls his sleeves over his biceps, I can barely believe my eyes.
“Jeez. Where’d you buy those arms?”
He turns around and gives me a confused look. “What are you talking about?”
“Those biceps. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a guy with arms like yours.”
“Oh.” Then, like my compliment doesn’t even matter to him, he takes the ingredients from me. “I like to stay fit. Like I told you that day in the elevator, I like to be prepared for whatever comes up, whether that’s wearing the right underwear or being able to carry heavy things.”
“How often do youneedbiceps like that?” I mutter.
Now, he pays attention to me, turning around and leaning on the counter. “I assume your previous boyfriends couldn’t hold you upside down and give you a screaming orgasm with their mouth.”
It takes me a moment to visualize a real life man doing something like that, holding my hips in his hands with my legs wrapped around his head. I glance down at his biceps again. If the rest of him was built like that… Okay, maybe he’s actually able to do it.
“Umm… No. They definitely couldn’t.” Thoughts of everything else he could do in the bedroom runs through my mind. This is not the conversation I should have if I want to maintain any kind of distance. It’s been a long time since I had a tumble in the sheets, and I’d mostly given up on finding a man that could live up to the dirty fantasies I’ve had. No, this conversation is certainly not the one I should have with my boss.
He smirks as he pulls a bowl down from a counter. “Well, if you’d ever like to try it out, you know who to call.”
“I’ll keep you in mind if I ever become obsessed with being held upside down. I wouldn’t hold my breath, though.”
The water’s boiling now, and he drops eight of the shells into the water. “I figure we might want to make some extra just in case we get hungry in the middle of the night?”
“How long do you expect this date to last? I’m just here to eat your food.”
He grins at me. “I plan on having you for dessert.”
Jeez. “Okay, that was a good one,” I say, finally giving him some credit. Emery doesn’t give up easily, and it’s impossible to ignore the fact that everything he’s done has my body thrumming. How has a man like him stayed on the market for all these years?
Why the hell has he decided I’m different, though? Does he just have a fetish for extra-large underwear or something?
“Start mixing the crab with the ricotta,” he says as he points at a paper with the measurements.
When he bends over to dig in a cabinet, I can’t keep myself from looking down at his ass in those slacks. He definitely doesn’t skip leg day with an ass like that. It’s one of those that makes you want to slap and see it bounce.
God, why can’t I just help him make some food, eat it, and leave? Have I really become so desperate that I’ll throw myself at a guy I know I can’t have a genuine relationship with? I’m not the girl who has a thing with her boss just because he’s hot and can do sexual acrobatics.
I chew my lip as I stare at his ass. Then he looks up and catches me staring. The grin only gets wider as he says, “Don’t worry, I’ve been staring at yours, too.”
The blood runs to my cheeks in an instant as I’m mortified. What the hell is wrong with me? This time, I don’t have a snarky response. I just turn to the mixing bowl and try to pretend like nothing happened.
Emery pulls a long cake pan from the cabinet that looks like it’s never been used and sets it on the counter. “You do have a nice ass,” he comments without looking at me like it’s a normal conversation topic.
