Jessica squeezed her arms and put on a cheeky grin. “But now that Khal Drogo is living with you, I’m a little less worried.”
Rebecca laughed and gave Jessica a friendly shove. She knew the night they were attacked had affected her more than she was willing to admit, but she was clearly going to jest her way out of dealing with it.
“I’m gone. I’ll see you on Monday.”
“Enjoy your weekend,” Jessica said after blowing a kiss.
She watched as her friend clacked down the marble hall in 5-inch heels like she didn’t have a care in the world.
Rebecca locked her office and made her way to the service exit. She walked out, and like clockwork, Nick’s unmarked squad car was right outside. He climbed out of the driver’s seat and a smile she couldn’t suppress spread wide at the very sight of him. As always, he pressed his large hand to the small of her back and led her to the passenger’s side.
“Hey, lady. How was your day?”
“Pretty good. Anything on Boogie?”
Nick grabbed her backpack and opened the passenger’s door. He waited for her to sit before he kneeled.
“Not yet, but we’re getting closer. Please don’t worry. We’ll catch him. Until then, I promise I won’t let anything happen to you.”
She placed her purse on the floor between her legs and relaxed against the seat. “Okay.”
“Okay,” he repeated softly. He closed the door and walked around to the driver’s seat. He hopped in and looked over at her with mesmerizing eyes. The crooked smile he wore almost made her melt into the leather seat.
“Where to? Straight home?” His question came out in a deep, masculine rumble that tickled her core.
“I need to stop at the store to pick up a few things for dinner tonight. What time do you have to be back at work?”
He raised a brow. “Wait.Dinner? You cook?”
Rebecca recoiled and placed her hand on her imaginary pearls. “Of course, I cook. What do you mean?”
Nick shook his head and shifted into drive. “I’ve been in your house for about two weeks now and I ain’t ever seen you prepare nothing but coffee.”
Rebecca gasped. “I resent that. I made you lunch the other day.’
“Ramen,” he refuted. “Ramen is not lunch, young lady. What are you cooking tonight, Pop Tarts?”
“Shut up!” she blurted out, playfully slapping his arm. “I cook!”
“If you say so.”
“I say so! And… I asked you a question. What time do you have to be back?”
Nick smiled and placed his hand over hers as it rested on her thigh. “I’m all yours. I’m off tonight, which is perfect. I wouldn’t give up a chance to see you cook.”
* * *
Rebecca poured a cup of coconut milk in the saucepan and covered it to simmer. She looked over and checked on Nick whose sole job was to chop carrots. He’d been at a job that normally took 5 minutes, for about 35 long minutes. But she wouldn’t dare complain. After all, the longer he fumbled with his task, the more she enjoyed watching the contracting and flexing of the muscles in his arms.
“At some point, those carrots will have to make it to this pot.”
“Look here, lady, I never said I could cook. Now, leave me alone to my chopping.”
Rebecca grabbed a cutting board from the rack and pulled a knife from the block. “I would like to have dinner before breakfast,” she teased.
She joined him at the counter and grabbed a carrot. As discreetly as possible, her eyes roamed his strong torso and muscles that had no chance of being concealed by the T-shirt covering him.
“I’ve never had oxtails,” he confessed.
