Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 77292 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77292 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
She took a shower first, and then I took mine.
We may or may not have overlapped showers briefly. I may or may not have been inside her for a portion of that time.
And then we dried off, put on some fluffy bathrobes, and lay together in bed.
We ended up taking a nap together. A long nap.
By the time I woke up, it was nearing five in the evening.
I gently roused her and told her I’d make us dinner.
Her kitchen was a little understocked, so I got creative. I found a few bags of Earl Grey tea—the same tea we had in my shop when we met week before last—and put a pot on. Then I put on a chef’s hat and took over. I took a cup of the brewed tea and threw it in a saucepan, mixing it with Dijon mustard and a few tablespoons of honey, and let it reduce into a glaze.
I defrosted two chicken breasts in the microwave, seasoned them with salt, pepper, and thyme, and seared them on her stove. I poured the glaze—now thickened—over the chicken and let them simmer in the sauce. I added some minced garlic to the concoction to bring out a little extra flavor.
While the chicken finished cooking, I mixed up a salad of mixed greens, shredded carrots, cherry tomatoes, and a sherry vinaigrette. I also assembled a simple berry crumble which I’m now throwing into the oven as I call Alissa into the kitchen.
She walks in, taking a deep breath in through her nose. “It smells wonderful in here.” She raises an eyebrow. “Did you make tea as well?”
“I did.” I hand her a cup and saucer of Earl Grey. “I was going to make a pot since we enjoyed having tea together in my shop when we first met, but then I thought about using a cup’s worth to make a glaze for the chicken as well.”
She smiles. “How creative.”
“Hopefully it tastes good.” I dish each chicken breast onto its own plate and add a little salad to the side. I gesture to the oven. “The berry crumble should be ready by the time we finish up eating.”
We sit at the tiny table off her kitchen.
She takes a bite of the chicken. “It’s delicious. The bergamot in the tea brings in a citrusy element, which is evened out by the sweetness of the honey.”
“You have a good palate.” I take a bite myself. It’s pretty tasty. Almost like orange chicken from a Chinese restaurant, but with a much subtler flavor. “I guess I’ll be inviting Earl Grey to my kitchen more often in the future.”
“Do you cook a lot?” she asks.
I sigh. “I wish I did more of it. I really enjoy cooking. But usually I don’t have someone to cook for. So I end up eating a frozen dinner more nights than I care to admit.”
She reaches across the table, grabs my hand. “Well, you have someone to cook for now. And if it’s all as tasty as this chicken”—she wipes her mouth with a napkin—“I’ll always be happy to sit down to dinner with you.”
I can’t help grinning. I love this woman.
More than life itself.
I would gladly cook dinner for her—provide her comfort and sustenance—for the rest of my living days.
After dinner, Alissa goes into her bedroom to get dressed for the club while I wash the dishes. She emerges in the same little black dress she wore our second night to Aces, complete with the fedora she purchased.
It takes everything in me not to fuck her again right here and now.
Unfortunately, we don’t have time. The club will open soon, and I still need to get dressed myself.
We drive back over to my place—I’m starting to feel like a fucking ping-pong ball. The tuxedo from last night is a little wrinkled, but I own two more. I pair one with a crisp white button-down with black studs and cufflinks and complete it with a dark bow tie.
A classic look. There’s a reason it’s been the go-to style for decades.
I look great.
I’ll look even better next to Alissa in her sexy dress that clings to her gorgeous figure in all the right places.
She drops her jaw when I walk out of my bedroom.
“Maddox!”
I run my hand up the lapel of my jacket. “You’ve seen me in a tux before. Just last night.”
“I know, but…” She walks toward me. “You just look so…suave in this one. Like James Bond.”
“I’m afraid I do a terrible Sean Connery impression.”
She runs her fingers over my stubble. “I preferred Pierce Brosnan anyway.”
“Alissa…”
I crush my lips to hers.
Kissing this woman is almost better than fucking her.
Almost.
She breaks the kiss. “I’d really like to keep going, but we should probably head out.”
I nod, adjusting myself under my slacks. “You’re right.” I rake my gaze over her, narrowing my eyes. “After.”