Page 93 of Mistaken Impression

I laugh. “Now, that would be money well spent.”

She leans back, looking me in the eye. “I wasn’t deliberately keeping anything from you, Mac. It’s just that it never came up… and we have been kinda busy.”

I nod my head. “I know. And I can understand why you’d be wary. You probably have to be careful of men who are looking to take advantage.”

“Advantage?”

I smile at her. God, she can be innocent at times. “Yes, of someone in your position.”

She frowns. “It’s not that at all. My brothers have said they’ve often worried about women doing that kind of thing to them… you know, trying to trap them. But I’ve never even thought about it. I’ve never been in a position to think about it. Like I said, I’d been waiting for the right man.”

“And you still think that’s me?”

“Yes, I do.”

“So do I. Your money makes no difference to how I feel about you, Ella. I’d still feel the same, whether you had two cents to your name, or whether you were the richest woman in the world.”

“I am.”

“You are what?”

“The richest woman in the world… I’ve got you.”

She captures my gasp with a kiss, and as I deepen it, holding the back of her head and crushing my lips to hers, I wonder if she already knows how much I love her.

We make it back into the kitchen just in time to stop the onions from burning, and while I sit up on one of the stools, Ella adds some flour to the pan, and then some stock, which she takes from a carton in the fridge, stirring it all around. She grinds in some pepper, and a little salt, tasting it, and then replaces the lid, looking up at me.

“We’ve got at least another twenty minutes,” she says, and I get down from the stool and wander around to her, taking her in my arms. “Do you want to talk some more?”

“No.”

I walk her backwards until she hits the work surface behind her, and I lift her onto it, pulling her forward so she’s right on the edge. Then I put one hand behind her neck, and lean in, kissing her, while I reach between us, undoing her zipper. We break the kiss, both breathless, and she raises her backside off the work surface so I can pull down her jeans and underwear, and then she sits back down again, waiting while I tug them off and drop them to the floor. She’s moved further back, so I pull her forward again, and bend down, parting her legs and flicking my tongue across her swollen clit. She moans, flexing her hips, and I look up at her.

“I thought you said clearing up was the only thing you did well in the kitchen?”

I smile, shaking my head as I stand between her legs. “Not anymore.” She stares into my eyes and I don’t take mine from hers as I unfasten my jeans…

Chapter Nine

Ella

“That’s a wrap, everyone. Well done.”

There’s a collective sigh of relief that we’ve finally reached the end of recording. The season might only have been ten shows long, but sometimes it’s felt like it would never end. The last two have been particularly difficult, because they’re going to air in the run-up to Christmas, so they were themed around festive cooking… not for Christmas dinner itself, of course; Kennedy clearly felt that had been covered with the Thanksgiving show. For Christmas, the ‘questions’ related to ‘easy meals to cook for busy moms’, and ‘party food’, both of which required an enormous amount of work on my part. On top of that, the set had to be decorated, which caused some consternation when it had to be dismantled and then re-erected… and made to lookexactlythe same a week later, with not a fairy light out of place.

The decorations feel a little premature, considering we still haven’t celebrated Thanksgiving yet, but I guess that’s how it works in television, and as I look around the studio, everyone seems quite happy.

I’m happy, too… but that’s because I’m so in love with Mac it’s breathtaking.

We’ve spent every night together since that first one; sometimes at his place, and sometimes at mine, although ittook him a while to get used to my apartment. I remember he laughed out loud when I first showed him into my bedroom, after we’d eaten the French onion soup, and cleaned up the kitchen.

“What’s wrong?” I looked up at his sparkling eyes as they wandered around the room.

I’ll admit, it’s enormous, and is effectively divided into two halves. The main part of the room is taken up with my king-sized bed, the floor-to-ceiling windows covered by pale gray drapes. The other half of the room features a deep, white, cozy couch, which sits in front of a huge television screen.

“Nothing.” He smiled and lifted me into his arms. “Except I think we could dispense with the rest of your apartment and just live in here, couldn’t we?”

“We could. If there was a kitchen.”

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