Page 31 of Lovers in Lockdown

‘Noah?’ I whisper, my hands knotted together in front of me and my tail between my legs.

He doesn’t look up, but the twitch of his lips tells me he’s heard, he’s just pretending he didn’t.

‘Noah,’ I hiss louder, frustration rising in my gut.

Still nothing.

This asshole is going to make me admit that I need his help. Out loud.

Fuck.

‘Noah, could I borrow you a moment? I need some… advice.’

He turns his head to face me and,gah,there’s that smirk again. ‘What kind of advice?’

I scowl. ‘Cooking advice.’

He raises his eyebrows, his lips pursed in a clear effort not to smile. ‘I thought you didn’t need my help.’

Dickface.

‘I don’t.’

‘Then what’s the problem?’ His emerald eyes sparkle with quiet victory.

‘Argh,I - I -’

‘Was wrong?’ Noah offers. ‘Need my help? Have no idea what you’re doing? Made a terrible decision offering to make dinner and now have regrets?’

My head aches from frowning so much. ‘Yes. To all of the above. Happy now?’ I concede.

‘Very. Stand back, my friend, Noah the King of the Kitchen is coming to save the day.’ Triumph is evident on every inch of his stupidly perfect face and my palm itches to smack it off.

He struts into the kitchen and immediately starts throwing ingredients into a fresh pan with deft fingers. Slowly, my annoyance begins to fade as I watch him cooking.

For a man so tall and broad, he looks incredibly comfortable bustling around the modest kitchen, despite his head almost hitting the low ceiling and his shoulders brushing the kitchen cabinets whenever he moves. He’s so stoic and calm, chopping and sauteeing with such precise movements, that it’s obvious how completely at home he is when he’s cooking.

It’s fascinating seeing how he works. He knows exactly what to do, what herbs and spices to use, how much bloody oil is needed to fry pancetta. It’s easy for him, because he loves it.

I guess he gets the same feeling when he’s salvaging a linguine as I do when I’m painting.

He holds the wooden spoon out to me, a glob of white sauce sitting temptingly on the end and he nudges it towards my lips. His eyes watch mine as I let him feed me, the sauce dripping slowly into my mouth, the flavours assaulting my senses. It’s creamy goodness, heaven in a dollop, zesty and salty and downright delicious.

I let my eyelids flutter closed as I swallow the sauce down, moaning in sheer delight at the taste of it. ‘Oh my God,’ I groan. ‘I think that’s the best thing I’ve ever had in my mouth.’

Noah’s silent as I open my mouth for another taste, my eyes still closed. Another long moan escapes my lips as the flavours fill my mouth once more.

‘Honey.’ His voice is strained, like a warning. ‘Please stop making those noises.’

Maybe all my moaning is annoying him.

‘But it’s honestly better than sex,’ I whine, finally opening my eyes to look into his.

My breath catches.

Noah’s staring at me with a look I’ve only seen on him once before, the night he caught me watching him from the shadows.

His pupils are so dilated, his eyes look black. They’re blazing. Stormy. Dangerous. His jaw ticks like a metronome, a steady pulse that mimics the thunderous thudding of my heartbeat. His gaze is so intense, my legs begin to shake, my hands start to sweat and though I don’t understand how this moment came to be, I know that I don’t want it to end.

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