Page 85 of Told You So
Laughing, I shake my head. “If we decide to use a bed,” I tease.
Forty-Five
Nick
I’ve just finished showering when I hear a knock at my door. I consider answering it just as I am, naked in all my glory, but decide against it. Wrapping my towel around my hips, I make my way to the door, glancing at the clock. I’m running later than I expected.
Bethany greets me with a beautiful smile as I crack open the door.
“Hey, sexy,” I say, moving out of the way.
She holds up two bags of groceries as she steps inside. “Hungry?” She eyes my naked chest approvingly.
“Not for food,” I growl and lean in for a kiss. Bethany’s lips are smooth and minty, and I press my mouth more firmly against hers.
“Yum,” I mutter, and set the two bags on the counter for her. I pry open the grocery bags and rub my hands together. “So, what are we having?”
“Well, I know you love Sam’s southern cooking, and I don’t pretend to be as good a cook as I hear she is,butI figured some homemade mac and cheese, a steak, and salad might be sufficient?”
My stomach rumbles. “You know the way to a man’s heart. Just give me a minute to throw on some clothes, and I’ll come help you with dinner.” I make my way down the hall and into my room.
“No rush,” she says and starts clinking around in the kitchen.
“So,” her voice drifts down the hall. “You had to work late at the ranch?”
“No, not exactly,” I admit. “Savannah wanted to meet up. She’s in town for a few days, and she’s got some shit going on with her family.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize...”
“Yeah, she needed a shoulder, so to speak.” When I’m finished throwing on some clean lounge clothes, I head back into the living room. Bethany is moving around in my kitchen like she knows it by heart—like she belongs there—and it makes me smile.
“So,” I ask, leaning against the counter. “What can I do to help?”
She slides the cutting board, a hunk of Gouda, and a grater toward me. “Care to do some grating?”
“Sounds easy enough.” I wink at her. I do know how to grate cheese, even if I’ve only done it enough times to count on one hand.
“You have to wash your hands first,” she reminds me, like I’m Jesse.
I’m about to retort with a snide remark, but I stop myself. Her eyes are on me knowingly. “Yes, ma’am.” I probably do act like an eleven-year-old most of the time anyway. I smile and flip the faucet on.
“So, what’s that other bag all about?” I ask, nodding behind me at the canvas tote on my table.
“Thatis for cocktail hour.”
My eyes widen with intrigue. “Say what?”
She pours balsamic vinegar into a large Ziploc bag with a dash of other spices and locks the meat inside to marinate. “Well,” she says, lifting her shoulder indifferently. Her scoop neck t-shirt hangs loosely around her, exposing her tank top and soft skin, though I try not to notice.
“I figured that if you ever decide a bar is in your foreseeable feature, you’ll need to have a signature drink. Or plural. So,” she continues, “I thought it would be fun to experiment tonight, Mr. Bartender.” She looks over her shoulder at me, and despite my resolve, I want her in my arms more than I’ve wanted anything all day.
Drying off my hands, I step up behind her and wrap my arms around her waist. “You wouldn’t be trying to get me drunk, by any chance, would you, Miss Fairchild? I don’t think that’s part of Professor Murray’s partnership expectations.”
She chuckles and leans her head back against my chest. “I could be wrong, Mr. Turner, but I’m inclined to think none of this is. But I don’t want to think about him or the project tonight.”
I inhale her and nuzzle at her shoulder, biting down lightly on her soft skin when I can’t take it anymore. Bethany moans as I move up the column of her neck and take her delicate earlobe between my lips. When she leans into me, I want to tear her clothes off in the middle of the kitchen, but I remind myself that she’s gone to all this trouble to cook dinner, so I make myself behave.
Kissing her jaw, I straighten. “I guess I better stop distracting you,” I whisper in her ear, light and alluring, hoping she’ll remember this moment in an hour when the stove isn’t on and food isn’t waiting to be consumed. “We’ll continue this later.”
