Page 33 of Worth the Heat
“From what I understand, it became popular when Italians emigrated to the United States. There was a bigger selection of meat here than in Italy, and the dish we know as spaghetti and meatballs was born. Any meatballs in Italy are served in a different course.”
“Huh,” Sebastian says as he motions for me to go in the door. “Learn something new every day. Camila, go wash your hands if you’re helping to make dinner.”
As Camila dashes off to the bathroom, Sebastian grabs my waist and pulls me back against him. “I’d like to ask you something, but I don’t want an answer right now.”
“Okay?” I reply quietly.
He rests his chin on my shoulder, his lips close to my ear. “I want — no, Ineedyou to stay with me tonight. Please. I’m not asking for anything else. I just want to hold you.”
This man.
This sweet, sensitive, and beautiful man. I wonder how many people know this side of him, and I find I’m hoping it’s reserved just for family. And me.
“Don’t answer. Just think about it,” he says, applying the lightest of kisses against the skin where my shoulder meets my neck, and I audibly moan at the touch. Goosebumps bloom as he steps away from me, and I don’t have a moment to revel in his touch, because Camila bounds out of the bathroom, ready to tackle dinner.
I should have pickedsomething without meat.
And definitely something without a red sauce.
“How did she get meatball on the ceiling?” Sebastian murmurs, as we survey the completely destroyed kitchen. A dusting of flour coats half of the counters, and a line of red sauce dances down one upper cabinet. “And the sauce?”
“She lost her footing on the step stool, and didn’t let go of the spoon. I thought I got it all,” I tell him sheepishly.
“And the flour?”
I sigh. “I don’t even know. I turned away for one minute, and the flour had appeared.”
“I wasn’t aware we owned flour,” he admits with a chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck and making me pause as I stare at the veins on his forearm. Arm porn really is a thing.
“You didn’t. I bought it, and I guess I forgot to put it away. I’m sorry,” I whisper sadly. I’m mortified that this mess is due to my attempt at bonding with his daughter, and in turn, I was basically a negligent adult. I’m lucky Camila didn’t find any knives to terrorize us with.
“Nothing to be sorry for,amor. Kids are messy, and they’re quick little jerks when they want to be. I have no doubt Camila had a great time, and she’ll probably ask you to cook again.”
Oh, good God. A new one. How many names now? Why are all the names he calls me hot? I knowamormeans love. But with the others, he slaps a “mi” on there. My queen. My sky. So why onlyamor? And why the hell am I so damn focused on this?
“How about you handle the counters, and I’ll tackle the cabinets and walls,” Sebastian says with a laugh as he places his hand on my lower back, guiding me into the kitchen. The heat from his palm sears through my shirt, and I feel like he’s branding me.
I’m silent as we get to work cleaning up the mess. Dinner was lovely, and it was nice watching Camila scarf down every last bite. Sebastian’s parents and grandmother stayed, and they were polite, but slightly awkward, with me. I think they’re equally as confused as I am about the dynamics with Sebastian.
As I start on the dishes, I think back to every smile he gave me throughout dinner. I’d been at a loss in the moment on how to describe the smiles, and now I know. It’s adoration. He smiles at me like he’s completely enamored with me.
I’ve never felt adoration before. Never felt like a man would burn down the world for me. And while I do believe Sebastian would set fire to things if I needed him to, I can’t help but wonder when the other shoe will drop.
“I think I got all remnants of dinner off the surfaces theyshouldn’t be on,” Sebastian announces as he jumps down from a chair. “I’m going to go give Camila a bath. I think she got more sauce on her skin than in her mouth at dinner, but I know she enjoyed the hell out of it.”
“Oh, okay,” I murmur as he passes by me. “When I’m done, may I use your bathtub? I’d really like to relax in a bath myself.”
Sebastian stills, tilting his head back so his face looks up at the ceiling. His voice is much deeper when he replies, “Of course.”
“I don’t have to if you don’t want me in your space,” I say hurriedly, second-guessing if I’ve overstepped his hospitality. “I don’t want to step on your toes. You have been so gracious, and I’m fine just taking a shower in the guest bathroom.”
He whirls around, his eyes intense as he stalks to me. I subconsciously back up until I run into the counter, and he cages me in. “What gave you the idea that I don’t want you to take a bath?”
“You looked aggravated, or frustrated, I guess,” I stammer.
He chuckles. “Oh, I’m definitely frustrated, but not for the reasons your mind has conjured.”
“I don’t understa —” I break off with a gasp as Sebastian leans in, his body aligning with mine. I feel his hard length against my lower abdomen, and I clutch onto his shirt with both hands. My heart rate speeds up, and my breathing is labored as I take in his hooded eyes and plush lips. I resist the urge to lean forward and nip at his bottom lip.
