Page 53 of Love Resurrected
He revs the engine in response as we pull up to a stop sign. I love fast cars, but not in a populated neighborhood. Especially one like mine, where there aren’t sidewalks, and people walk their dogs or babies and stroll or jog on the roadside.
We head through downtown and over to the other side of town. I don’t know the area well, but I also don’t think there are many restaurants over here. Except for maybe the one we were at last night. It comprises an odd blend of residential and industrial, with more commercial buildings than homes.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“It’s a surprise.” He smiles and pats my knee, leaving his hand there until it’s time for him to use the gear shift again.
A short time later, we pull into the driveway of a smallish ranch-style home. Kind of reminiscent of Sadie and Ethan’s.
“Whose house is this?” I ask.
“Mine.”
“Did you forget something?”
“Nope. I’m making you dinner.”
“Oh, wow. Okay.” I wasn’t expecting that. Not that I’m opposed to it either, just that I may have prepared differently mentally. Dinner at his house is intimate, and I’m not in the mood for intimate. It’s been too rough a day for that.
The inside of his house is not what I expected. It’s cool in temperature and dimly lit. He flips on a light and I’m not sure what I expected, but it wasn’t mid-80s bachelor pad complete with a fur rug in front of the fireplace. Everywhere I turn, I see chrome, mirrors, and black. His furniture looks to be black leather and at first glance, I count at least four mirrors from my vantage point in the entryway alone. We move further into the room.
“What do you think?” He turns to me, his face expectant.
“It’s not what I expected,” I reply honestly.
“I get that a lot.”
The entryway leads directly to the living room, which leads to the dining room. There’s a wall with swinging half-doors, to what I assume is the kitchen, on one end and a pass-through window on the other. Two low-back black leather loveseats face one another in the living room, with a glass and chrome coffee table in the middle. End tables, also made of glass and chrome, flank the loveseats, and the walls behind each are adorned with oversized mirrors. At one end is the fireplace, with a large screen television hung over the mantle, and the other end features a large black leather recliner.
Upon further inspection, I see the furniture is actually a kind ofpleatherthat is slightly sticky to the touch. I follow him through the dining room—adorned with a chrome and glass dining table combined with chrome and black pleather chairs—into the kitchen. Everything I’ve seen so far is so . . . shiny. And, surprisingly, dust free. It must take forever to clean all this glass.
I step into the kitchen which is only slightly outdated with tile countertops and laminate cupboards. I don’t want to judge him for it. For all I know, he just bought the house and hasn’t updated or renovated, but I feel coerced into seeing him tonight and it’s made me feel bitchy and capricious. Part of me keeps expecting him to flip a switch and activate some kind of cheesy, sultry background music, where the lights dim, candles automatically light, and a round velvet-covered bed rises from the floor.
I snicker at my thoughts.
Then I get a whiff of whatever he is cooking, which smells amazing.
“Ohmigod, what is that smell? It’s incredible,” I tell him.
“Lasagna. It’s my mom’s recipe.” He opens the oven door to peek in and sets a timer on the stovetop. “It’s got about another ten minutes to cook, then I need some time for the garlic bread and we’ll be ready to eat.” Neil opens a bottle of wine and hands me a glass. The kitchen is warmer than the other rooms, understandably since the oven is on, but it also has a closed-in feel that makes me feel almost claustrophobic. It’s shaped in a symmetrical square with a sink and a window at the opposite end of the swinging doors and pass-through, and the other walls are comprised of counters and cupboards. It’s a ton of storage, but just not a real welcoming feel.
“I’m going to take this in the other room, if you don’t mind,” I say.
“Good idea,” he says, then uses a remote to switch on some music, “Your Love is King” by Sade floats through the room. I guess that checks off the sultry music box. Now we just need the candles and round bed.
“I love this song,” I tell him, which is true.
Neil comes up behind me and nuzzles my neck. “I love the way you smell.” He bites lightly on my collarbone, causing me to shiver, in a good way. He takes my wine glass from me and sets it on the coffee table next to his own, then spins me to face him.
“Dance with me?” He pulls me into his arms, wrapping his around my waist, leaving me to put mine around his neck. Neil nuzzles my nose with his, rubbing his cheek against mine. I’m having a hard time rectifying my feelings since I’m a little turned on, and a little pissed off at the same time. Usually, when I feel like this, pissed off wins out, but so far, the two emotions are fifty-fifty.
This time, when he reaches down to cup my ass cheeks, I let him. And after he slips his thigh between my legs, I rub myself against it. As he captures my lips with his and swirls his tongue with mine, I return the gesture. I give myself over to the lust building as we kiss, not stopping until I hear I hear the timer ding for dinner. My stomach growls hungrily in response. Loudly, making Neil laugh.
“Let’s get you fed, then we can move on to dessert.” He winks and I relax. I’m not quite into a good mood—still angry aroused—but into one that is far more affable than what I’d been feeling.
Neil had already set the dining table when I arrived, so there isn’t much for me to do, aside from bringing the wine and our glasses to the table and wait while he carries out the food. Tossed green salad, lasagna, and garlic bread. The salad has a basil vinaigrette I could bathe in, given the opportunity.
“That salad dressing is absolutely delicious. Did you make that too?” I ask.
