Page 95 of The Woman in the Garage

Eventually, I linked my phone to his wireless speaker, letting music fill the room as I poured us some more wine, then sipped and sang and swayed my hips as I watched Santo take charge of the kitchen.

It was practically porn, to be honest, to see him moving around. Chopping this, mixing that, sticking his finger into the sauce, and then dipping it into his mouth.

“I’m gonna sayFuck itand let all this burn if you keep looking at me like that,” he said. He shot me a raised brow look.

“It’s not my fault that you look so hot when you’re cooking. Out of curiosity, would you be against doing all this,” I said, waving at him, “wearing nothing but your boxer briefs and an apron?”

I got a chuckle in response to that before he turned and walked over to me, stealing a quick kiss. “If you’d be willing to scrub the floor in one of your sundresses for me, I’ll cook just about naked for you.”

“It’s a deal,” I agreed, offering him my hand, making his smile spread wide enough to make his eyes crinkle. “Now get over there and finish my dinner,” I demanded.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Santo

I honestly lost the plot for a solid three days.

What can I say?

I had Dasha in my house, in my bed, wearing those sexy little nighties or sundresses—or nothing at all.

Who could blame me for getting a bit distracted?

Besides, Friday had rolled into the weekend. Everything else could wait until the workweek began again.

It wasn’t like me to lose my focus when I had a job going on. And, arguably, this one was more important than any before. Not just because Dasha was at risk, but because the Family was sitting on millions of cocaine of unknown origins or debts.

I did manage to get one of the guys to install that hidden camera. But Dasha had decided to stay home from work that day, giving us a long weekend of nothing to do but enjoy each other.

We spent a lot of that time in bed. Or the shower. And once in the living room. And, fine, the laundry room too.

But I also cooked. And she cooked.

We looked online for more furniture for the house.

We talked about our pasts and our hopes for the future.

And I was more than happy to find how many of our future goals aligned.

Because even though it was still new, I had this feeling in my gut that this was the woman for me, that she was the one I’d bought the house for, that I’d been setting down foundations for.

It was also why I took every goddamn decor suggestion she made, wanting her touch all over the house.

My only question was where the hell that pink couch of hers was going to fit in.

“Yo,” Dom said after I let him in the back door.

“What do you have?” I asked. There was a brown bag in his hand.

“Bagels.”

With that and nothing more, he put the bag on the counter and moved about my kitchen to make his bagel. He had an almost uncomfortable familiarity with my kitchen, considering he’d only been in it a couple of times.

“Where’s the girl?” he asked over a mouthful of everything bagel with cream cheese.

“Still sleeping. I decided not to wake her up.” She needed her sleep after how late we’d been up the night before, lost in each other for hours, until her moans silenced to gasping breaths for air, until her whole body was shaking with aftershocks, until she was so worn out that within two minutes of us falling back into our sleeping spots, she was out cold. She hadn’t so much as stirred since.

“She know you’re leaving?”

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