Page 114 of Dangerous Contract: Part 1

She nodded. With that kiss and nod, their morning officially began. As the sun drifted into Orazio’s spacious kitchen, he found himself sharing an intimate cooking experience with the woman he loved. A first for him.

He’d never cooked with anyone other than his aunt and grandma, who taught him to cook when he was younger. They’d insisted he learn because the men in their family had bad luck with women. Wearing a simple white apron that accentuated her curves, Monique smiled as she watched him.

“Today, I’ll teach you the secrets of an authentic Italian breakfast,” Orazio told her.

“I don’t want to stand here doing nothing. What can I do to help?”

“You can start the coffee pot for me.”

“Yes, sir.”

Monique started the coffee pot as Orazio opened his refrigerator to make sure the ingredients he’d asked his maid to purchase this morning were there. They were. It was time to show off his cooking skills.

He took his time showing her how to prepare a traditional frittata with eggs and finely chopped vegetables. Watching Monique chop vegetables was a horror show. Each piece was a different shape and size.

“Let me help you with that,” he offered.

“I got it,” she told him, looking determined to get it right.

“Is that why the vegetables look like they’ve been chopped with a chainsaw? Let me help you.”

Standing behind her, he wrapped his arms around her and helped her chop the vegetables. When his touch met hers, she shivered.

“Get your mind out of the gutter,” he warned.

“I can’t help it. Your hands are so big. Like another part of you,” she whispered seductively.

“Careful, woman.”

Her giggle was fucking adorable. Monique’s laughter danced through the air, mingling with the aromatic notes of freshly brewed coffee that permeated the room. Next, he showed herhow to prepare bruschetta: crusty slices of artisanal bread topped with diced tomatoes, basil, minced garlic, and a drizzle of extra virgin olive oil.

Monique’s efforts to slice the bread uniformly were met with laughter from Orazio. But she wouldn’t let him help her, resulting in an array of misshapen pieces of bread. The kitchen buzzed with the sound of clinking knives, the chopping of ingredients, and laughter.

His home had never sounded that way before. This was something Raz wanted forever. By the time they were done, his kitchen was a mess. Flour dusted their clothes, homemade tomato sauce was splattered on the countertops, and eggshells had found their way onto the floor.

Yet, Orazio had never felt happier. Their hard work resulted in frittatas cooked just the way his grandma taught him and misshapen bruschetta arranged on a platter. They sat at the table, facing each other.

He waited for Monique to take a bite of her food before eating himself. Her eyes lit up as she chewed the food slowly.

After swallowing, she told him, “This is so good.”

“You like it?”

“I don’t like it. I love it. There’s a difference.” She winked.

He fell in love all over again. How many times would this woman make him fall in love with her?

“I can make you this every morning,” he told her.

“Really?” she asked.

“If you let me.”

“Do I have to do the dishes?”

He shook his head. “All you have to do is be mine.”

“I’m already yours, silly,” she told him before forking another bite of food into her mouth.

---