Page 94 of The Woman in the Garage

He chuckled at that as he moved away.

I tried to tuck my boobs back into my dress. But without the minimizing of my bra, it was a futile task.

I held the material against my front as I turned.

Santo stood there with my bra and panties in his hand, giving me a satisfied smile. “How about you slip into something that doesn’t require these while I get dinner started?”

I certainly wasn’t going to turn that offer down.

I snatched my underwear back, then moved to walk past him.

Santo landed a hard slap to my ass, making me yelp and turn back with a faux-scandalized smile.

“Keep giving me those needy eyes and we’re never gonna eat,” he warned.

And while I wouldn’t mind that, I also really wanted the experience of a man cooking for me, so I rushed upstairs to find Santo had not only brought my bags in, but had taken my clothes out and hung the dresses in the closet.

My casual clothes were still in the duffle bag, so I dug around in there to find one of my ‘fancy’ sleep sets.

Since I mostly slept alone, I just wore a comfy tee and panties. But I had a bit of a shopping problem when it came to pretty nightgowns and matching robes.

I was glad to put one to use.

I picked out a baby pink nightgown with white lace trim that fell about mid-thigh. I slid that on—without any of the undergarments Santo didn’t want—and put the matching robe on top, but chose to leave it uncinched, so he could see the nightie beneath.

I took myself to the bathroom, fixing my hair, but decided to leave the makeup on for the time being. I knew Santo had seen what was beneath, but I wanted to look my best for him. At least until bed.

With that, I made my way back downstairs to already smell garlic and onion filling the house.

“Mmm, what are you making?” I asked as I moved into the kitchen to find him at the island, his shirtsleeves rolled up, cutting up greens on a fancy wooden cutting board.

“Right now? Sauce,” he said, focusing on his knife skills. Which shouldn’t have been as sexy as they were. But, damn, the man knew what he was doing. And the motions totally made the muscles in his forearms tense in all sorts of appealing ways.

Finished chopping the greens, his gaze lifted.

With that, he was straightening, knife still in his hand, his greedy gaze sliding over me.

“Tell me you wear that all the time at home.”

“I can if you want,” I said, belly cartwheeling at the need in his eyes and voice.

“I want.”

“Good. Because I have bought an ungodly number of these,” I said, waving down at myself. “But I’ve never had a reason to wear them.”

“You got a reason now. Lots of reasons, if you want me to list them,” he said, lips twitching.

“So, you make sauce from scratch?”

“Pretty sure my ma would disown me if I used a jar. A basic marinara is easy,” he explained. “Just need tomatoes, garlic, parsley, basil, olive oil, and salt.”

“And yet I bet it will be the best sauce I’ve ever had.” I looked at his gathered ingredients. “Can I do anything?”

“Hang with me and look pretty. Shouldn’t be too hard,” he said with another warm gaze.

God, this man almost seemed too good to be true.

He was gorgeous, protective, successful, skilled with cooking,andabsolutely adored the body I had worked so hard to learn to love myself.

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