The next forty-five minutes were spent chopping onions and peppers, then learning how to double dip the cutlets in an egg and seasoned flour mixture, and how to deglaze the pan once the chicken had cooked. I let Nate handle the chopping, watching his big hands hold the knife with ease, creating a mountain of vegetables. He caught me watching him and winked. A warm, tingling feeling spread through me as I stirred the chopped tomatoes in the large pan with a big wooden spoon.
“Are you ready for me?”
I blinked and gazed at him, noticing the intensity of his stare and how his hair kept falling into his eyes. I’d told him to dress casual, and for the first time I saw him out of a suit and tie. The casual effect was just as heart-stopping, if not more, than his power clothing. The faded jeans cupped his ass in all the right places, making me weak in the knees, and the plain white sweater clung to his broad chest and muscled arms. I nearly swallowed my tongue when he smiled at me, and I coughed to regain what little composure I had around him.
“Yeah. I think Sergio said to put the veggies in and let them simmer in the sauce.”
“Okay.” He scooped them up and leaned across me to settle them in the pan. Like a homing pigeon, my body rested against his, and after he wiped his hands, Nate put his arm around me and dropped a brief kiss to my hair. Content and secure, I remained pressed to him. Sergio watched us from across the island, and after a brief discussion with the Logans about temperature and the need to stir the sauce, he looped around the counter to join us.
“And last but not least, Presley and Nate. How are we doing, my lovebirds?”
His joking didn’t fool me, as I caught him constantly checking on us during the lesson. But it could have been because Nate looked so damn gorgeous, a person would have to be dead and buried not to be affected by his smile.
“I think we did a damn good job,” Nate said. “Of course, I’m going to let Press do the tasting.” His fingers played with my hair, brushed along my jaw.
Sergio sniffed at the pan. “The sauce smells very good. I like that you took your time with it and didn’t rush.”
“Well, you know. Good things come to those who wait.”
Sergio’s deep-set eyes found mine. “True. But sometimes we wait and hope for that which will never come to pass.” He blinked, then pointed to the sauce. “Cooks must always taste along the way to see if there’s a seasoning adjustment needed. Go ahead now.”
I dipped the wooden spoon in the thick, steamy mixture and held it up to my lips, but Nate put his hand over mine.
“Don’t. It’s hot, and you might burn your lips.” With his eyes holding mine, he blew a cool stream of air over the spoon. “I would hate to see perfection damaged.”
I lifted the spoon and placed my lips over it, licking the cooled-down sauce. “It’s delicious. Here, taste.” I scooped a little sauce again, but Nate placed his palm on my cheek.
“I’d rather taste it this way.” He dipped his head and kissed me in front of everyone. I froze, and he licked my mouth free of the sauce, then slipped his tongue past my lips to touch mine. It lasted less than thirty seconds, but time slipped away and I could’ve stayed there all night with Nate’s mouth pressed to mine, and the smell of him—a combination of the fresh, cool rain of his aftershave and warm spice from the tomato sauce—stealing through me. I heard clapping and pulled away from Nate, but his arm remained a heavy weight over my shoulders. I swayed, my legs as limp as the noodles we were cooking.
“Wow, I felt that kiss all the way over here.”
I darted a glance to the opposite side of the island and picked up the stares of the two couples. Diane’s mouth hung open, while Mrs. Logan held on to her husband, her eyes soft with a sweet light. Carl had been the one to call attention to us, and the frank admiration in his eyes and his lingering gaze on Nate rubbed me the wrong way. Despite wanting to keep things non-physical between us, I rubbed my cheek against Nate’s raspy stubble and slid my arms around his waist to nestle closer.
“Food is the gift of love on a plate,” Sergio said. “It is a thing of beauty to give the one you love and desire something delicious on the lips, sweet on the tongue, and satisfying in the belly. But enough of the birds and bees. Let’s plate the meals, pour the wine, and feast on the fruits of your labor.”
I set the chicken cutlets on the plate with the pasta and ladled the fragrant sauce over both, while Nate picked up a bottle of wine in each hand. “Red or white?”
“I know they say white with chicken, but I’m partial to red. Frisco would give me hell.”
“I think you’re a little too concerned with what Frisco thinks about things. Let’s not tell him everything we do, hmm?” Nate poured us each a healthy glass of Pinot Noir and handed me mine. “Some things should be between us only, don’t you think?”
I lifted my glass to his, and we clinked in a toast.
“Yeah. I’m good with that.” I wanted to hug the intensity of our relationship to me like a blanket.
After we sipped the wine, I cut a piece of chicken and held out the fork to him. “Taste.”
A dimple creased his cheek, and his eyes crinkled in a smile. “Yes, sir.” He opened his mouth, and I slid the fork inside. His eyes widened, then locked with mine. Heat flared, my breathing matching his.
“Mmm…” He chewed and ran his tongue over his lips, sparking a tug of lust deep in my belly. “I like when you get a little bossy.” He took the fork from me and cut another piece of chicken. “Now it’s your turn.”
I let him feed me, and we alternated until the plate was empty. “That was delicious.” I finished the last of my wine and let the good food and drink spread their comforting glow throughout my body.
“You’re delicious.”
He poured me more wine, but mindful of my low tolerance for alcohol, I sipped at it sparingly.
“Too much?” He quirked a brow. “I’ll refrain.”
