Page 48 of Mine To Keep (Southern Wedding)

“Medium rare,” I say, and he kisses me chastely before walking out the back door. I walk around the sleek kitchen, washing my hands before making the salad. Looking out the window toward the outside grill, I see him standing there looking even better than he does at the office. I knew the minute the door opened and I saw him there, tonight would be the night. My hands start to shake when I think about it. My stomach feels like it’s going to roam all the way up to my throat, and then my chest compresses at the same time. I’ve never been more nervous in my life. Never. He looks over his shoulder at me, probably feeling me staring at him. His face goes into a smile, and then he winks at me. I have to hold the counter to keep my knees from giving out.

“Can you focus on not making a fool out of yourself?” I mumble to myself as I continue to make the salad. “He’s just a guy.” I toss the cut-up salad in the bowl, adding the tomato and cucumber.

The back door opens, and he comes in with a plate in his hand. “Steak is done,” he announces, putting down the plate on the island.

“I just need to add the dressing,” I say, and he nods.

“Stay here.” He holds up his hand to me and goes to the dining room that we quickly passed when I walked in. He comes out a couple of minutes later. “Okay, you may enter.”

I walk to him as he slides his hand in mine, and I see he’s dimmed the lights and has set two candles in the middle of the table, next to the two table settings. “Sit and I’ll bring the food.” He pulls our joined hands to his lips before walking back to the kitchen.

I sit down in one of the chairs, anxiously waiting for him. He comes in and sets the plates down and goes in and out of the room ten times before coming back and sitting down. “On a scale of one to ten.” I look over at him. “How nervous are you?”

“Seventy-seven,” he answers right away, making me laugh. “And that is high since I cook for a toddler every single day, and when I try something new, I hold my breath, hoping she doesn’t throw it at me.”

“Stop.” I laugh. “You didn’t have to do all this.”

“But I did.” He grabs my plate and puts a steak on it with some shrimp. “I should have done more.”

“Like what?” I ask as he hands me my plate.

“Like taking you out and wining and dining you. Instead, we are sitting in the dining room. I forgot the wine.” He pushes his chair back, and I stop him.

“I don’t really drink wine,” I admit, “so this is perfect.”

“You’re just saying that,” he says as he cuts his own steak, “so I don’t feel like a complete and utter loser.”

I shake my head as I cut my steak. “If it makes you feel better,” I state after I chew my steak, “this is the best steak I’ve had in my life.” I lie to him. “The best.”

“I know you’re lying,” he says, chuckling, “and I’m just going to be the big man and pretend you aren’t.”

The meal goes off without a hitch, both of us trying to keep the moment light. I help him clean up the dining room, and he just dumps everything in the sink before grabbing my hand and dragging me to the couch. “I’m not letting you clean my kitchen.”

I tuck my feet underneath me as he sits facing me, my knees at his hip. “But it’s the universal rule,” I remind him. “Whoever doesn’t cook, cleans.”

“But then I’ll get less time to spend with you,” he reasons softly, leaning in and kissing me. “I like how much I like you,” he admits between his little kisses. “I’m crazy about you.” He slides his tongue into my mouth. I arch my back to him, getting up on my knees before he wraps his arm around my waist, pulling me even closer to him.

“I like how crazy you drive me,” I confess as I pick up my skirt and then throw my leg over his, straddling him, “at work and out of work.” His hands grip my hips as I kiss him.

“I like how you make me laugh.” His hands move up my back, and I can’t help but throw my head back and laugh.

“When do I make you laugh?” I ask him as I place my hands, palm open, on his chest.

“When you have the snarky comebacks,” he admits, picking up a strand of my hair and twirling it around his finger.

“Did you laugh when I got juice boxes?” I roll my lips when he glares.

“I did not.” He snickers. “I one thousand percent did not like that at all.”

“I like how hard you work.” I kiss his jaw, right before my lips trail kisses to his lips. My tongue comes out to lick his bottom lip before sliding it into his mouth. The kiss is all tongue and hands. I fist his shirt in my hands before getting the courage to pull it up and slipping my hands under it. His stomach contracts at the touch of my hands, my mouth swallowing his groan. I move my head to the other side to deepen the kiss, my body feeling like it’s on fire. I want his hands on every single part of me. He wraps his arms around my waist as he sits up straight and his cock pushes up against my covered clit, sending shivers through my body. He lets go of my lips so he can reach behind him with his free hand and try to rip his shirt over his head. When he takes one second longer than I think is necessary, my hands frantically join his in shedding his shirt.

He tosses his shirt to the side, and all I can do is sit here looking at him. There is no mistaking he is a man’s man. His chest is broad with no chest hair, but then he has a bit of dusting on his stomach going down to below the belt.

“Grace,” he says my name softly as my hands trail over his chest, “you’re killing me.”

“Sorry.” I snatch my hands away from him, and if his arm wasn’t wrapped around my waist, I would jump off his lap and die of embarrassment.

“Hey,” he says, putting his hand under my chin and lifting it up to make sure I’m looking at him. “I want your hands on me,” he reassures me, making me slowly start to smile. “In fact, I want them all over me.” He bends his head to bury it in my neck, and my eyes close as his tongue comes out to lick my neck as he trails kisses down it. His hand slides under the hem of my shirt, and I can’t help but get goose bumps all over my body.

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