Recipe for Satisfacton(34)

It took her a minute but she finally found her words. “I do love it in here.”

His biceps flexed beneath the black fabric of his T-shirt, straining with the weight of carrying two heavy reusable bags.

Her stomach quivered. Suck it, libido. She swallowed hard. “What do you have in those bags?”

“Dinner.”

Hell yes! Her stomach rumbled in appreciation. She was starving.

The thought of an established chef cooking just for her was exciting, but it was also way over the line. Dinner was intimate. Dinner could lead to things that just…it could lead to things.

“I’m sorry you went to all that trouble, but I’m not really hungry.” She turned away and concentrated on the clothes. Her hands ran over the fabrics for no reason other than to make it seem as if she was doing something.

Maybe if she didn’t look at him he wouldn’t be so appealing.

“Is that so?”

Or not. Even his voice made her tongue want to lick every inch of his sexy body. Bad libido. So very bad.

“I thought we had a deal.” The bags rustled. “I thought we agreed to try new things?”

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea. I changed my mind. I need…” She paused. There was no reason for her to dump her problems on him. “I shouldn’t have agreed.”

“Sterling, look at me.”

Without a second thought she turned. Giving in way too quickly to his command. She expected a stern glare when her eyes finally met his. But the tone of his voice didn’t match the look in his eye.

“I’d like nothing more than to hold you to our agreement.” He shifted the bags in his hands and a coy smile curved on his lips.

She would have given anything to know what thought had just crossed his mind.

“I won’t make you do anything you’re not comfortable with. Just dinner. It’s the least I can do.”

Just dinner. She couldn’t say no to that. He wanted to make her comfortable. Jack Vaughn wasn’t the careless bad boy everyone thought he was.

“How do you know what I like to eat?” She hoped he wasn’t going to make her eat weird, freaky slimy things.

“Just leave the food to me.” He winked. “I have a knack for satisfying a woman’s hunger.”

Oh, she bet he did. She knew firsthand that’s not all he could satisfy. Bad, bad libido.

“Get back to work. I’ll call you when it’s ready.” He turned but stopped and faced her again. “By the way, Sterling, what happened to the microwave?”

She gasped. He had her turned so inside out she had forgotten about the incident.

“Oh, I…had an accident.” She hung her head. “I burned the lunch I brought.”

Surprised at his hearty laugh, she lifted her head. He wasn’t mad?

“It smells pretty rancid down there.”

“You should have smelled it before.” She laughed. “I owe you a new microwave. I’ll pay you back.” She didn’t know how or when, but she would.

“I like the idea of you owing me.” He slung one bag over his shoulder. “And buying me a microwave is not what I had in mind.”

Her stomach tingled. She bet she knew Jack’s idea of an IOU.

He left the closet without stopping and she admired his backside, his perfect shoulders and tight bottom. The way his jeans fit to perfection.

Just dinner?

She only hoped he kept his word. Because she knew, without a doubt, that if he touched her, just once, she wouldn’t be able to say no.

…

Jack dropped a handful of salt into the pot of boiling water and then emptied the package of linguine. The stuffed chicken and steak rested on a cutting board off to the side. The smell of garlic wafted from the pan below, where it mingled with pancetta, waiting for the pasta to bring them together.

He felt wonderful. Happy. Happier than he had been in a long time. The thought of Sterling somewhere in the house waiting for him to call her down for dinner warmed his body, warmed his heart.

But she was hesitant. And she needed…something. He wasn’t quite sure what it was, but he knew what he needed right now—Sterling laid out on this counter for him. His own personal feast.

He’d set their table, two place settings on the far side of the breakfast bar. Large dinner plate, small pasta bowl. Appropriate cutlery, water glass filled with sparkling water, and on the right, two wineglasses—one for red, the other for white. In the middle was a row of candlesticks, three sizes, shortest to tallest from left to right.

“It smells good in here.” She stood in the doorway of the kitchen, one hand resting on her hip, the other on the white frame. Her hair was tied up haphazardly on top of her head. Her sweater was gone and she now wore a form-fitting tank top over her linen pants.