Imperfectly Delicious (Imperfect Series #6) - Mary Frame Page 0,57

smiles at me and then grabs a napkin, kneeling on the ground in front of me. He cleans me up with soft but thorough swipes and then finds my panties and hands them over.

Being cared for with so much sweetness and attention does nothing but add another layer of terror. I can’t lose this. It’s almost worse than if he were perfunctory. This is something that will hurt once it’s over. We haven’t even discussed what we are! I should say something. We need to talk about this. Right? Isn’t that what people do? Especially considering he still wants this property and I’m still parked on it. We just christened the site of our conflict for chrissakes.

I will not be a doormat people pleaser who avoids conflict. We will talk about this. I open my mouth to say something, but he beats me to it.

“Can I make you dinner?” His eyes flick between mine, a little crease between his brows while he watches me. “We can go down to Savor. No one is there.”

He’s nervous I’m going to say no. Am I not the only one putting myself on the line here?

We could talk about it over food, right? No harm in that. I’m not running away again, I’m being proactive. And, besides, I am hungry.

I smile. “As long as it’s not vegan chili, I’m in.”

We barely make it into Savor before I jump him again. This time, we do it right inside the kitchen door, up against the wall, I stashed some condoms in my bra before we locked up the truck.

It’s his fault, really. He wouldn’t stop touching me. He held my hand, rubbing his finger across the back of my thumb, kissed my knuckles, pulled me into his side, rubbed a piece of hair between his fingers—all of that just on the short walk between my truck and his building.

“What are you doing to me?” he murmurs in my ear after we finish and I’m limp against his chest.

“Whatever it is, you’re doing it right back.”

I follow him into the kitchen. He hands me his chef jacket. It’s clean and undamaged. I pull it around my shoulders. “You got the burn marks out?”

“It’s a new one. Sit here.” He pulls out a stool and I sit a few feet away from the stove while he moves around the space, grabbing a knife from the wall, and finding a chopping board. He disappears into a walk-in fridge and then returns with a tray full of stuff.

I could watch him forever. Even his chopping is sexy, his hands moving with fluid grace, forearms flexing while he slices veggies with ease. Crushing garlic with the flat of his blade and tossing it in the pan. Aromas fill the space and my stomach rumbles.

“What are you making?”

“Chicken and seasonal veggies in a lemon garlic sauce.”

He tosses the food in the pan like the pro he is, and I appreciate the muscles of his forearms and wonder how long I have to wait until I can jump him again.

“Here.” He turns to me, holding up his spoon for me to taste.

I watch him while wrapping my mouth carefully around the utensil and then flick my tongue out to make sure none of the sauce lingers on my lips. His eyes trace the movements, the green darkening to viridian.

With a quick intake of breath, he turns back to the stove and finishes the meal, plating it with practiced hands and then pulling up a stool next to mine.

“Bon appetit.”

“This smells amazing.”

We eat and talk—about the girls, about the holidays—all while carefully avoiding any topic of conflict, even though I should bring it up. But every time I get up the nerve, my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth.

It doesn’t help that he’s constantly touching me. Squeezing my knee, running a hand up my arm, cupping the side of my face in his palm and leaning in to kiss the corner of my jaw, even as I’m chewing.

“You’re going to kill me,” I tell him when heat floods into my nether regions, yet again.

“Really?” He takes my hand and puts it over his burgeoning erection.

My grin is uncontainable. “Again?”

“I find myself in this state basically whenever you’re around. I don’t know if I could ever get enough.”

My heart melts in my chest and some emotions lumps in my throat.

“I almost forgot something to drink. Do you want some wine? I have some nice vintages—we need something good because this feels momentous. Doesn’t