Taken_ A Dark Mafia Romance - Piper Stone Page 0,64
bedside manner as a nurse or not,” I mused, still able to feel his heated gaze.
“Do you enjoy being a nurse?”
After doling out portions of pasta on two plates, I shifted back to face him, thinking about how to answer him. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted to do. I thought about becoming a doctor, but honestly, nurses are able to work closely with patients. It’s very rewarding.” I put the plates on the counter near him, moving to grab the sauce.
He was working diligently, cutting every portion exactly the same size. He was a man who didn’t like anything out of his control. I couldn’t seem to take my eyes off him as I spooned marinara on the noodles. Just being near him was electrifying, my aching nipples fully aroused. As I added sprinkles of Romano cheese, he finally lifted his head, studying me intently.
“You do like cheese, don’t you?”
“Very much so.” A smile crossed his face, the subtle look more boyish than I’d seen. “I can’t remember the last time I had a home-cooked meal.”
“Don’t you eat?”
As he added bread to the plates, moving to retrieve the bottle of wine, he lifted a single eyebrow. “I work long hours at the office. By the time I leave, I usually go to one of my favorite places for a couple drinks and a burger.”
“I hope you are with friends at least?”
“Not usually. I set goals and I complete them,” he answered.
“No dates?” I was surprised I’d asked the question.
“Only when necessary.”
I shook my head, giving him my version of an admonishing glance. “Wow. Okay. What about weekends, having friends over? Don’t you cook at all? You know, grilling out?” I grabbed some silverware and napkins, rolling my eyes in an exaggerated manner. “Barbecues with friends. Steaks? Ribs?”
Grinning, he leaned against the counter. “I own a grill. Does that count?”
“Let me guess. You have a wonderful wine and liquor collection; however, if I were to look into your refrigerator, I’d find bottled water and ketchup. Right?”
“Mayonnaise, not ketchup. I’m a mayo kind of guy. And beer. I do enjoy an occasional cold one, but guilty as charged.”
I took both plates, the silverware and the napkins, positioning them in one hand while I grabbed my wineglass. “You work far too hard and that’s very sad. That’s not what life is about.”
“Let me get one of the plates.”
It was my turn to lift my eyebrows. “Just follow me. Once a waitress, always a waitress.” I gave him a tilt of my head before walking to the coffee table, completely bypassing the kitchen table and chairs.
When he said nothing, I shot him a glance before placing the plates onto the glass surface, immediately easing onto the floor.
“Is there something wrong with the chairs?” he asked, the grin remaining.
“That’s so... boring,” I teased. “Besides, we have candles burning and nice music playing.”
He sauntered over, looking down at the table, so utterly confused. But he sat down, even crossing his legs, immediately topping off both wineglasses.
“You look about as thrilled as if you were in the dentist’s chair,” I said, laughing. When he remained uncomfortable, I slid my hand on top of his. The connection was just as intense, roaring through both of us like bottle rockets, but this time, he pulled away, instead reaching for his wine.
“I just realized what I’ve been missing in my life,” he said quietly.
“Surely you must live in one of those glorious Hampton estates, complete with a full staff that could make you anything.” I grabbed one of the forks and a spoon, immediately diving into the food. I was starving, the day sapping the majority of my energy.
I was rewarded with another chuckle as he grabbed his napkin. “I do have a house, but I wouldn’t call it an estate. Contrary to what you’ve seen, I’m not all about the fancy things that seem to make everyone happy. I definitely don’t have a staff, although I was forced to hire a weekly cleaning service, or the house would have collapsed under the dust.”
Everything he said saddened me even more. He was a lonely man trying to sort out something eating at him, refusing to enjoy life. I took a bite, immediately twirling another round of pasta. When I heard nothing, I glanced into his eyes.
They held utter amusement, the man finally laughing.
“What’s so funny?” I demanded.
“I’ve never seen anyone eat spaghetti that way.”
I glanced down at my plate, scanning the surface. What the hell was he talking about? “What