Double Dare(113)

And the big man just dragged me in, shutting the door before leaning down for a deep kiss.

I was breathless by the time he backed off, his strong arms cradling me, making me go weak inside.

“I know, right?” Stone said, lifting an eyebrow. His nostrils flared slightly, chest heaving a bit, and I realized he was just as affected. “You’d love to see me in nothing but this apron, wouldn’t you?” he joked.

And I had to laugh then because the apron was the silliest thing, although yeah, I was dying to see him naked already. Because the garment was straight out of the fifties, a black and white gingham print with a giant lobster on it that said, “Fill ‘er up!”

“What does that mean, even?” I asked, giggling again. “Why would a lobster say fill ‘er up?”

The big man just shrugged, a twinkle in his eye.

“Who knows?” he said gamely. “My mom gave it to me, it’s her idea of humor.”

“Oh your mom likes kitschy stuff?” I asked curiously. “Like random knick-knacks and cheesy souvenirs?”

And the big man’s face darkened for a moment before the cloud passed. I blinked, unsure if it’d been my imagination.

“My mom likes a lot of things,” he said lightly, “and this apron caught her fancy, who knows what she was thinking? She’s eighty already, probably has a couple loose screws,” he said with a wink.

I wanted to ask more, to ask about his family, what they were like, what they did when they were together, but Stone was already striding towards the kitchen, pulling me along behind him, his big hand warm on mine.

“Come on, you can help me cook,” he said. “I’m just putting the finishing touches on this roast chicken.”

And I gasped when I stepped into the brightly lit space because it was done up like a chef’s kitchen, no expense had been spared. Beautiful blue and white tiles lined the walls, there was a huge sub-zero fridge, as well as two counter islands which could have seated seven or eight each.

“You like to cook, I see,” I said softly, awed by the luxury, my eyes wide as I gazed around.

And the big man took my in his arms, bending to give me another kiss before swatting me on the ass and handing me a bunch of carrots.

“I love cooking,” he confirmed. “Now wash these babies, I’m going to toss them in the oven before they go in your little mouth,” he winked.

And obediently, I began scrubbing the carrots in the farmhouse sink, the giant silver square almost as big as a tub.

“Mmm, that smells good,” I moaned as Stone pulled a roast chicken out of the oven. The skin was crackling brown, juices pooling in the tray and as he set it on the counter, a heavenly aroma of savory spice enveloped me, my mouth watering.

“Get back to your washing,” he commanded with a quirk of a smile, “the chicken’s gotta cool before it can be served, so focus on the carrots.”

And I smiled back before turning to the veggies once more. Because I love a man who can cook and Stone had just pulled a rabbit out of a hat, I would never have guessed that he was a master chef.

But the big man wasn’t done with the surprises yet. With a special knife, he flicked off the tops of the carrots and then julienned them, throwing them into a glass pan before seasoning them with all sorts of spices.

“We need a little Himalayan sea salt, a little cracked pepper, and hmmm, maybe some thyme,” he murmured as his deft fingers sprinkled ingredients over the orange tips. And I watched, amazed as the everyday vegetables went from plain jane to amazing, something that complemented the roast chicken perfectly, providing balance, flavor and depth to the meal.

And after it was all ready, I dug in greedily. I was so hungry that I hardly noticed the steps Stone had taken, lighting candles, putting out fancy linens, real silverware and fine wine. It was so good that I moaned with my first bite of chicken, eyes closed while chewing, pure heaven in my mouth.

“Ohhh mmmm,” I hummed. “This is amazing.”

Stone just growled across the table from me.

“And baby, I want you to eat,” he commanded. “You’re too thin.

Too thin? I was a size twelve on a good day, my curves sassy and spreading with each month. If I wasn’t careful I’d be a fourteen or sixteen soon.

But Stone read my mind.

“Yeah you’re too thin,” he growled. “You’d look even better if you put on twenty pounds, put some real flesh on you.”

I gasped.

“Twenty pounds!” I giggled. “I’ll be sticking out to there if I do,” I said, holding my hand in front of my girls about another foot.

And Stone’s eyes just turned hungry.