“Do you mind sharing what’s so funny?” I asked, my tone arctic.
He shook his head and chuckled for another few seconds before he answered, “You. You’re funny.”
My eyes narrowed at him and I straightened from the counter, cocking one hip to the side. “What,exactly, did I say that was so hilarious?”
He came forward and I stiffened as he closed in on me, his hands grabbing onto my hips. He ignored my rigid body and pulled me into him. “Chelsea, you weren’t pushy at all. I want to wait because I’m worried I’ll push you too far, too fast.”
I gaped at him. “What?”
The last of the amusement faded from his features as he gazed down at me. “I’ve been around you for a year, but we still don’t know each other that well and…” He paused, his eyes moving over my face. “I can be intense.”
I frowned up at him in confusion. “What do you mean?”
He cleared his throat. “I prefer to be in control when it comes to sex.”
“Are we talking bossy in the bedroom or something a little more kinky?” I asked. He’d alluded to this last week and claimed that he didn’t want to do anything other than tie me up, but I was curious. Was he trying to ease me into the idea of something more than just that? My cheeks felt hot but this time it wasn’t from embarrassment. In fact, I barely suppressed the urge to squirm against him. I’d never experimented with bondage, but I had read a few romance novels that included BDSM and my curiosity had definitely been piqued.
Of course, Landen read me like an open book and the corner of his mouth tilted up in a slight smile. “Definitely bossy and maybe a little kinky.” The ghost of a smile vanished from his face. “I hate to bring up past relationships, but it is something that has created issues with some of my exes.”
My mind wandered back to our conversation when we created the bet. He’d mentioned this in passing, but I didn’t realize that he might want that sort of control on a regular basis.
“Really?” I asked. “I mean, you mentioned light bondage before but that seems pretty tame compared to some of the stuff I’ve seen, well, read about since those movies came out. Unless it’s more than that.”
He shook his head. “No, nothing that extreme. I just prefer to…be in charge.”
“I’m not sure I would have a problem with that unless you want me to moo like a cow or something. But my safe word is cheesecake.”
Landen chuckled. “No. No role-playing. Nothing that would require a safe word. That’s not what I’m interested in.”
“Now, I’m really curious,” I grumbled.
His hands squeezed my hips and he tugged me even closer. “I’ll do my best to satisfy your curiosity soon.”
His tone said he would satisfy a hell of a lot more than that. I couldn’t decide if I was nervous or excited by the idea.
Before I could make up my mind, he released me and stepped back. “Whatever you’re cooking smells delicious,” he commented, smoothly changing the subject.
I waited a few seconds for the strength to return to my legs before I moved. Then I skirted around the counter to the stove where the garlic bread sat on the baking sheet. “Thank you.”
“What’s on the menu?” he asked, shrugging out of his jacket.
I eyed him as he hung the jacket over the back of a barstool and unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt to roll them back on his forearms. “Cheesy chicken and potatoes with salad and garlic bread.”
“Sounds delicious.”
When he planted his ass on a barstool I realized I hadn’t offered him anything to drink, something that would horrify my genteel Southern mama. “Do you want something to drink? I have beer, wine, sweet tea, and Coke.”
“A beer sounds great.”
I reached into my fridge and pulled out a bottle of Ziegenbock. Since I started working for Chris, I’d been out to dinner with the two of them enough to know his preference, so I’d stocked up when I went to the grocery store earlier.
I popped the cap and set the bottle in front of him and he stared at it in surprise for a moment. “You like Ziegenbock?”
I laughed and opened a drawer to grab a knife for the garlic bread. “No, but you do.”
Landen studied me for a moment and I couldn’t read his expression. It was somewhat unnerving. Finally, he said, “Thanks.”
Nodding, I sliced the loaf of garlic bread. I could freeze the leftovers and warm them up the next time I threw together pasta or minestrone. Once the bread was cut, I reached into the cabinet for two plates and filled them with the creamy, cheesy chicken and potatoes, salad, and bread. I set one in front of him and put mine on the bar next to him as I poured myself a glass of white wine.
