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My phone buzzed on my desk, and I scooped it up.
Weston:Dinner at my house?
I smiled down at the text, quickly typing my response.
Me:Depends on what we’re having.
My heart raced as I waited for his response.
He sent back a picture of a beautiful feast of roasted chicken, fresh greens, smashed potatoes, and bread.
The air rushed out of my lungs, my shoulders dropping. It was a beautiful dinner, sure, but there was no tease back? No sexy banter?
Me:Be there in ten.
I hurried to my car after shutting everything down, my brow furrowed. He’d been so playful when we were out of town…now that we were back, was he going to switch to being strictly professional? Was this a dinner between friends or was this a dinner between a boss and his personal assistant? I hated not knowing, and the fact that he only responded with a picture of the food had me in knots.
By the time I punched in the code to get through the gates around his home, I was a complete mess and totally unsure of how to act. I guess I should’ve asked if there were different rules for different places in our lives—were away games an all-out free pass to be who we wanted to be without worry? Was being home a no-go zone for what was brewing between us?
The door was open, so I walked in almost timidly as if I hadn’t walked through his door a thousand times before.
“Weston?” I called, my voice rigid with nerves.
“In the kitchen!” he answered, and I followed the long hallway, rounding it to turn into the kitchen. “I hope you’re hungry,” he said just as I turned the corner—
“Omigod,” I said, a laugh bursting from my lips at the sight of him.
He was in his kitchen all right…
In nothing but an apron and his boxer-briefs.
And there was no food in sight.
“Fuck, I love the sound of your laugh.” Weston waggled his eyebrows at me, his arms open and beckoning. “What are you doing standing all the way over there?”
Still laughing, I dropped my bag on the kitchen counter and rushed into his arms. He scooped me up, holding me against him as he dipped down to slant his mouth over mine. I sighed between his lips, the contact like a breath of fresh air.
So things were just as normal as they’d been when we were out of town. The relief barreling inside me was almost as intoxicating as his mouth.
“Where is that dinner?” I asked when he pulled away to look at me.
“About that,” he said innocently, dipping down to wrap his strong arms beneath my ass and haul me to his eye level. “Change of plans.” He settled me on the large kitchen island, his lips grazing mine. “You’re the main course tonight.”
A warm shiver ran down the length of me as he stepped away, pulling the apron over his head, leaving him looking downright edible himself in just his dark blue boxer-briefs. I unabashedly raked my eyes over every inch of his body, my blood spiking with need at the sight of him.
He parted my thighs, kissing the spot just beneath my jaw.
“What about all that food you cooked?” I asked, slightly breathless as his teeth grazed my neck.
“I stole that picture off the internet,” he said. “But I’ll cook for you later. I wanted to make you laugh.”
I did, again.
Weston was always making me laugh, but lately, it had been a different kind of joy he was delivering.
“What if I need to eat?” I asked, leaning back enough so that I could see his face.
He looked downright sheepish. “Tell me what you want,” he said. “And I’ll make it happen.”
