Page 90 of Against The Rules

“Am I coming on too strong?”

“I mean…” she says slowly. “It’s pretty strong.”

“But you like it,” I add hopefully, waggling my eyebrows at her.

She crinkles her nose, and my smile fades. “That’s the thing,” she says seriously, walking around the oversized island. “I think I do.” When she reaches a hand up to cup my face, I sigh, leaning into her palm. “I think I like it a lot.”

“That makes me happy to hear, Peaches, because I care about you a lot.”

A grin splits her face, her other hand reaches up, and I stoop down slightly so she can wrap her arms around my neck. She tilts her head.

“If I remember right, I think you even said you loved me.”

“You’re pretty easy to love,” I tell her, and when she rises up on her toes, I kiss her full, sweet mouth. God, I have been thinking about this ever since Friday. I’ve been missing her body pressed against mine, the feel of her lips and tongue.

She finally pulls away with a slow, soft smile that sends my already raging desire into overdrive. I flex my hands, trying not to push her too far too fast.

“You sure you want to wait for after dinner?” I ask, grinning.

“For dessert? Seems traditional.” She jerks her chin at the still smoking pot of ruined sauce. “Besides, don’t we have to deal with this? Your taste-tester expects only the best.”

“Shit, yeah, that’s going to be a pain in the ass to clean, huh?” I run my fingers through my hair.

“Just let it soak for a while. It’ll be fine. I think there are some tricks to cleaning off the bottom if it’s really burnt on, we can look it up or something.”

“You’d help me clean it?” I ask. There is literally nothing I would rather do less.

“I mean, yeah, you went above and beyond for me today.” Her smile’s so big it lights up the whole room.

“It was nothing.”

After washing her hands, she grabs a hand towel and throws it over one shoulder, humming under her breath as she finds a bowl and starts prepping the greens for the salad.

“You don’t have to do all that,” I tell her. “You can just sit.”

“Nope. Not a chance.” Her little pink tongue pokes out as she finds a knife and starts chopping the bell pepper I hadn’t had a chance to prep yet.

Damn. She looks so good here, in my house, so at home.

She should be here all the time.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” She doesn’t even glance up from the cutting board.

“Like what?”

She puts the knife down, raising one eyebrow as she wipes her hands on the towel. “Like you don’t have a barbecue sauce to make.”

“Feisty.” Laughing, I pull out a huge bowl for her to put the salad in, then for the second time in the last hour I get out the ingredients for the sauce I’ve been working on.

“You love it,” she says, returning to the cutting board.

“I do,” I say sincerely, starting my process of measuring all over again.

She falls silent, the only sound the swish of the knife on the cutting board. It’s not bad, though—not at all. It’s cozy, and companionable, and I could get used to it.

I want to get used to it.

“Want to listen to music?” I ask, curious if the silence is making her uncomfortable.

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