Page 66 of Regally Binding

They paused and nodded synchronously but continued to twist their lips.

“If that’s everything, can one of you make dinner as I’m starving?”

They nodded again before tiptoeing out of the room.

Chapter Thirty-One

The scent of pasta sauce wafted through to the living room.

The growl from Liss’s belly echoed her sentiment that it was the best thing she’d smelt in days, apart from Bear. The rumbles turned to flutters as she reached the kitchen and witnessed the man who would destroy her enemies humming to classic pop playing from the radio while stirring something on the stove. A pink apron hung around his neck, although he’d left the tie strings undone.

There was a softness to his face that she’d only seen in one of the family photos, and as she stared in a dreamy trance, she vowed to know more of this carefree Bear if he let her. This version of him was like a new song. And the way he talked to her about fucking earlier was liquid arousal. The combination of the two versions was irresistible.

He spun on his toes as the singer hit her high notes. His spoon was his microphone as he belted out the Whitney Houston classic. Suddenly, he froze as he saw Liss.

“You okay there, Mr. Bear?” she replied with a smile. “I thought you had eyes in the back of your head.”

He blushed as he laughed with a throaty sound. “Even bodyguards are allowed a break to murder the classics.”

Bear was more likely to murder her heart. But as he kicked out one of the chairs for her to sit, she went to him. “Let me do this up first. I’m worried you’ll trip, and I can’t have my karaoke king upended on the floor.” She stroked his body unnecessarily as she reached for the strings, and he leaned into her, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind. They stayed like that fora second. With his arms around her, her heart rate slowed even as goose pimples rose on her arms. It was a different kind of intimacy from all the sexual touches they’d had. Did the prospect of the following week being their last together mean they were letting their barriers down? It made sense, as it was something her mum had once told her when she was dying. Suddenly, the rules didn’t matter when your fate was decided. This week was their now or never. But maybe he was like this because of the house. It was a special place for the guys. Perhaps it was his safe space to be the real him.

Liss’s heart slowed as she basked in the connection. This man, a stranger, was someone significant. She couldn’t tell him she wanted more because it was impossible to have more.

Her stomach rumbled again, breaking the moment, and he resumed stirring the sauce as she tied his apron in a knot before patting his bottom.

“What are we having?” she asked breezily.

“My signature dish is pasta bolognese with garlic bread. All homemade, of course,” Bear replied as she sat at the table. Her limbs were lighter than they’d been in days, maybe years. Bear flipped the oven door and pulled out the bread with one hand while stirring the pasta with another. Domesticated Bear was a revelation.

“I didn’t know you were a chef.” She briefly closed her eyes and breathed the scent of freshly cooked garlic bread. A moan slipped from her lips.

Bear pulled on the back of his neck as he reached for the plates. He was so endearing.

“To be honest,” he said over his shoulder, “I can’t cook many things. Strike’s mum taught me before I left home, as she said a man should be able to cook at least one dish in case someone special visits. I’m still unsure if she referred to herself or a future partner.”

These nuggets about his past were more valuable than gold, and she held tightly to every one.

“There’s wine in the rack over there. Pour a glass if your head can handle it.”

Liss ignored his tease as she poured herself a drink. It wasn’t the time to revisit the conversation before he’d carried her to safety. She went to pour him one, too, but he shook his head. Still on duty.

“So you use this dish to woo the ladies?”

Bear stopped, and his brow knitted together as he stared at the ceiling. “I don’t think I’ve cooked this for anyone but Jeanette and Cliff, Strike’s parents. I guess there isn’t much kitchen time when I’m with women. Unless you count when they’re screaming from the countertop while I lick—”

Liss covered her ears. “La la la,” she sang. “I don’t need to hear about your sex life.”

He placed the food in front of her. Bear knelt before her, taking her hands off her ears before holding them still. His hands were rough, and she resisted the urge to run her fingers across each bump and healing cut.

“Princess, I don’t need to say anything for you to imagine me naked. I can see it on your face whenever you bite your lip or squeeze your eyes tightly closed. But remember: you’re the only woman, other than Ma, that I’ve cooked for, and yet I’ve still not been between your beautiful thighs. Now eat your food like a good girl, and maybe I’ll let you have pudding.”

She shoved him away as he beamed at her. Her desire ramped up from PG-13 to rated R within a few sentences. Taking a slow sip of wine, she regrouped as he chuckled while grating parmesan onto her dinner before sitting opposite her.

“I didn’t get to ask my question earlier, by the way.”

“Go on then,” he replied before popping a piece of butterfly pasta between his rosy lips.

“You said Ma and talked about leaving home. Are you and Strike brothers?” Bear shook his head as he chewed. “You’re in loads of photos, but there’s none of you until you’re a teenager.”

---