“Here, see if this is seasoned to your liking,” he said, offering me a spoonful of risotto.
The rich tang reminded me of a hearty soup, warmth soothing my throat and spreading through my belly.
“That’s delicious,” I said.
He bobbed his shoulders with pride. “I told you I’d show you what I could do.”
“I thought you meant in the bedroom,” I joked.
“That too.” He pecked my lips and resumed cooking.
Satisfied, I flopped onto the couch and picked a cute movie about a princess who burned out on her duties and ran away for a few magical days with a potential scoundrel who grew to love her.
I sniffled at their big farewell scene, mostly finished with my risotto and dessert, and snuggled with Angel, who licked his spoon clean.
“I wish they could stay together,” I said.
He shrugged. “I like to think they straightened out their lives after this, that she’d be stronger and wiser, and he’d have made something of himself by the time they met again.”
“You think they’ll meet again?”
He tapped my nose with his finger. “Love works in mysterious ways, pigeon.”
Love?
Did he mean us? Because we’d met again.
I was an overwhelmed, occasionally naïve young lady who’d spent the last few weeks on a whirlwind adventure with him.
He gestured to the stairs with his chin. “Why don’t you head upstairs? I’ll finish tidying.”
“I want to help,” I said, reaching for the dishes.
“Tomorrow, sweetheart. Tonight, let me treat you like a princess.” He wrapped my arm around his shoulders and scooped me up in a bridal carry.
Laughing, I hugged him tighter. “Be careful. I don’t wanna be responsible for any accidental injuries.”
“I’m stronger than you think, my lady,” he said.
Each step drew me further into this fantasy of him being my prince. My Angel. He laid me down on his bed and kissed me.
“You get settled in for sleep. I’ll come when I can,” he said. “Let me know if you need anything.”
“Okay.” I dragged him in for one more kiss. “Thank you, sire. You may take your leave.”
“Thank you, my lady.” He bowed, flashing me a devilish smile before he sauntered down the stairs.
Maybe tonight I could tell him I loved him. I just had to set the scene.
What’d be romantic? Soft lighting. I scrounged for some candles and a lighter in the linen closet. Once those were set, I changed into my silky chemise and matching robe to pose on his bed: sensual and approachable.
But after fifteen minutes, I got antsy. Where was he?
I padded downstairs to find him reading at the dinner table.
He was so cute when he was focused—his shirt unbuttoned, one finger idly tracing his lips. I could picture him in another era, a romantic man of charm and intellect.
“Come to bed, Angel?” I extended my hand, my attempt to be coquette weighed with exhaustion.
