Page 53 of Wrecked for Love
Elia’s grin softened. “Figures. Natural suits you. You look stunning!” He dipped his head, capturing my lips in a possessive kiss and reminding me of just how much this man meant to me.
Most women wouldn’t want to feel like a trophy and wouldn’t want to be paraded around as something their man could boast about. Hell, I didn’t want that either—not entirely. But, in moments like this, being his best possession—even if only for a second—felt like an aphrodisiac. There was something about the way he looked at me when the boys were around, the pride in his eyes that sent a thrill through me. A spark of heat that wasn’t just about love but about the power I had over him and the way I knew he saw me as his—his Chili Pepper. And damn, sometimes it felt good to lean into that, to let myself be that for him.
“You’ve been busy,” Elia said, helping me with the grocery bags as we strolled toward the house.
“Yeah. I’ll sort out dinner tonight.”
I let him head to the shower, though my mind wasn’t innocent about it. To be honest, I would’ve loved to sneak a peek, but I shooed those thoughts away and turned my attention to the kitchen instead.
I had actually planned this little dinner surprise earlier in the day. Fresh chicken, Italian sausage, peppers, and all the fixings for one of my favorite New York dishes: chicken scarpariello.It was hearty, flavorful, and a bit of a crowd-pleaser—a perfect choice for tonight.
Koda stood by me, his tail wagging as he watched me work.
“Ah, Elia told me you’re on a special diet,” I said to him. I had made a simple dish for him—just boiled chicken and rice—which I’d double-checked online to make sure it was safe for older dogs like Koda. As soon as I set it down for him, the mutt dug in.
“Good boy,” I muttered, giving him a fond pat as he devoured the meal.
As I prepped the ingredients for the humans—chopping the vegetables and stirring the sauce—I couldn’t help but imagine Elia in the shower, water running over his muscles.Bless my Venus. But really, I shouldn’t let my mind wander too far.
Just as I was getting the sauce to the perfect simmer, he appeared—fresh out of the shower, a towel slung low around his hips, and droplets of water still clinging to his chest. The scent of sandalwood drifted through the air, subtly cutting through the kitchen aromas as if to remind me—don’t miss this!
Heat pooled between my legs, threatening to ruin my concentration—and the sauce. He caught my eye and smirked, fully aware that I was watching him. And Lord, he didn’t rush—didn’t even attempt to conceal the tenting under the thick, dark green towel.
Calm as ever, he breezed right past me and headed to his room to change, leaving me to wrestle with what was left of my self-control. He knew exactly what he was doing, and it worked like a charm. My spoon stirred the sauce with more vigor than was necessary until he strolled back out, now wearing a snug sweatshirt and chino shorts, all casual, as if nothing had happened.
“Shoot!” I yelped, spilling a bit of sauce.
“You good over there?” he asked.
“Yep, all fine,” I muttered, shifting to cover the mess while trying to block him from distracting me.
“Don’t let me stop you,” he said, ambling toward the wine fridge.
Small towns had their secret treasures, or so they said. Turns out, they weren’t wrong. Just look at him. Whether wrapped in a towel or fully dressed, the guy was breathtaking. But I hadn’t forgotten he had a heart that ran far deeper than his looks. Still, part of me wondered: was this the disaster I’d been trying to avoid or the flashpoint I’d look back on fondly when I was seventy? The one that changed everything?
Elia opened the wine fridge, glancing over his shoulder at me. “White for tonight?”
“Believe it or not, I’m still happy to follow your lead,” I quipped.
He poured us some chardonnay. Before long, the chicken was ready, and I plated everything up. We sat down to dinner, and as soon as he took the first bite, the look in his eyes said it all—approval and something more.
“This is amazing,” Elia said, digging into the scarpariello. “You really outdid yourself.”
“Glad you like it,” I said, taking a bite myself.
After we’d eaten most of the meal, he got up and returned with a couple of beers, handing one to me. “Valley Wolf,” he said with a grin. “Brewed a little off the radar. Technically, it’s gray-market stuff.”
I raised an eyebrow but took a sip. The first taste hit hard, like some kind of wild whiskey crossed with benzine. “Dang! This stuff’s got a kick,” I said, my voice hoarse.
Elia laughed. “Yeah, it’s an acquired taste. But trust me, it grows on you.”
And he was right. A few more sips in, and I found myself starting to enjoy it. There was something raw, unpolished, butundeniably satisfying about it. Just like the man sitting across from me.
The night was winding down, and we were doing what any other couple might do—or at least what normal couples did.
Normal?
That word had practically vanished from my vocabulary, yet here we were, snuggled up on the couch with a loyal dog curled at our feet like this was the most natural thing in the world. Though I have to admit, the Valley Wolf beer in our hands was anything but ordinary.
