Oh, no. How will I ever pay for his services?
I snort before trying to clear my head. Focus. Cookbook. Grandma’s recipes. Not Dom’s forearms.
Except the pages in front of me don’t feel like her. They’re my feeble attempt to replace them after Pierre stole them from me and took the credit as his own. Anger sparks, quick and hot. I snap a pencil in my fist before I know I’m squeezing. Paper balls arc toward the trash and miss by a mile.
Fucking Pierre.
He’s a worthless piece of shit. What kind of person would manipulate someone just to get hold of an old family recipe book?The kind who would turn around and steal my dream right out from under me, that’s who.I won’t make that mistake again.
I was livid when Lucas told me about the rumors going around that Pierre scored a cookbook deal… usingmygrandmother’s recipes.
I don’t know what to do. There’s no way to prove it. I have most of the recipes committed to memory, but that still won’t prove they were mine. My cookbook dream goes up in smoke.
Dom squats, smooths one out, and reads. “You don’t want this?”
“Nope.” I take it, crush it again, and brick another shot off the cabinet. “Sports were not my calling.”
He straightens, eyes soft with something that isn’t pity. “It sounded good.”
“Well, give it to my ex. He loves taking my things.” The words rip out before I can stop them. I exhale hard. “Sorry. Not your problem.” I sigh. “So, give it to me straight. Can you fix the washer, or is the laundromat still making me its bitch?”
“Well, if the laundromat has that much power over you, may I suggest seeking help?”
I flip him off, and it feels so good.
“But for real. I’m sorry, there’s a fuse blown in the blower motor. I can order a new one, but it says it won’t get here until nextweek. Jim down at the hardware store might have it, but probably not.”
I fold my arms on the table, resting my head on them with a dramatic thunk… There may be some slight banging going on. “It’s fine, totally fine.” I can stop by the bank tomorrow and pick up more quarters.
“No.”
I lift my head. “No? What do you mean, no? I need to wash my clothes, Dom. Trust me, it takes a lot to smell like sandalwood and lavender at the end of the day. And it usually involves a shower and a clean pair of tiny briefs.” I give a little wink.
His eyes fill with heat at the mention of my preferred sleeping garments. Really, it’s naked, but if I said that, I’m pretty sure the cute little vein that pops out of his forehead when he gets mad would explode.
He rolls his eyes at me. “You’ll do laundry at my place until the part comes.” He says it like it’s decided.
Hmmm, I think about it for a second. Not ideal, but also… notnotideal. No doubt it will aid Dom in his quest to find out why I’m home. But maybe I can use this to my advantage.
“Well now,” I say. “Only if you promise not to look at my unmentionables.” I tilt my head up, batting my lashes at him.
“I won’t look at your underwear,” he says, jaw tight.
“Tragic.” I stick out my hand. “But I guess we have a deal.”
Dom raises an eyebrow skeptically before clasping my hand.
I lean in real close… “This is good. I ran out of clean briefs this morning and had to go commando.” I lean up and kiss his cheek. “Thank you.”
I catch Dom’s eyes darting south before he clears his throat and a blush creeps up his neck. “I’m just gonna check out this window since I’m here.”
“Does your kitchen work?”
Dom cocks his head in confusion. “Yes…” he says slowly.
“Good, let me cook you dinner tonight. Payment for services rendered. My way of saying thank you. Plus, while I’m there, I can do a load of laundry.” Seriously, I’m out of underwear, and I have one clean shirt.
I give his chest a pat, then another. Fuck, his chest is hard and muscular, but also firm and soft. I wonder if he likes his nipples played with. I could suck on those babies until…
