“A little more space, and an amazing edible delight in the form of a salami sandwich.”
“You want salami between your buns?” he teased, not moving. Her energy throbbed and she lightly swayed, her back nearly touching him, before regaining herself.
“Yes, hilarious, I’m sure all of our sides are splitting.” Mr. Tom stepped around Tristan and deposited a sandwich on the counter. “Thank goodness I don’t have to deal with terrible jokes when I am in the kitchen.”
“You are a terrible joke,” Sebastian blurted, and then flinched. “Sorry, Niamh’s been in my head a lot lately, and that’s the sort of thing she would’ve said.”
“Very amusing,” Mr. Tom replied, and it was clear that it was not. He pulled glasses from the cabinet and the lemonade and iced tea from the fridge. “I’ll just leave these sandwiches here and go work on the salads and side dishes for tonight. Call me if you need anything, miss.”
“Thank you, Mr. Tom.” Jessie gave him a grateful smile. “This sandwich is amazing.”
“Of course it is.” He poured her iced tea before heading for the door. “I don’t have to waste time competing in order to feed people.”
“Why is Niamh in your head a lot lately?” Tristan asked as he took a seat at the table and unwrapped his sandwich.
“This situation is reminding me of our efforts outside of Kingsley’s territory and how often she yelled at me.”
Tristan put his fist in front of his mouth as he laughed. “She was playing a part more than actually yelling at you.”
“She was doing both,” he grumbled, slouching in his chair, and Tristan laughed harder.
Natasha dropped the diced onions into a hot pan. Steam curled up and kissed her beautiful face. She flicked her wrist in a practiced movement, sending the onions folding over each other again and again. Her breasts pushed against her tight white top, jiggling as she worked. She set the pan down to let them cook before twisting out of Austin’s way and over to her carefully organized cheese section.
“This for me?” She looked at Austin and lightly touched the edge of a glossy yellow bowl.
Tristan wanted her to look at him, instead. He wanted her focus and to lose himself in those sparkling greenish-hazel eyes. To watch her cook something in nothing but an apron or maybe a G-string.
“Yeah. I have one over there.” Austin jerked his head at the edge of the counter he was working on.
She grabbed it and elegantly spun. Her energy swirled around her in an exotic dance, beauty in motion, showing her happiness, the joy and companionship she was finding with everyone sharing the moment, even him.
She measured out the ricotta cheese before gliding the few steps to the stove to once again flip her onions. She added in diced garlic and then she was spinning away again, back to her cheese. She cracked an egg on the side of the bowl and opened the shell with one hand. She poured dried parsley in her cupped palm before dashing it into the bowl, followed by the parmesan cheese, that she poured and apparently measured by sight alone.
“It’s almost erotic, isn’t it?” Jessie murmured, leaning toward him. “Watching him—or her, in your case—cook?”
Tristan had forgotten to eat his sandwich. To chew, even, mesmerized as he was by his little deathwatch angel creating a culinary delight for her chosen and beloved family. His heart warmed.
“Very,” he murmured.
“You missed the pasta making.” Jessie leaned away again and took a sip of her drink. “I highly recommend watching the pasta making. I watch the muscles. You’d watch a similar part of the body.”
Yes, he would and imagine the salty taste of her skin as he licked a taut nipple before sucking the peak into his mouth.
Natasha practically danced around Austin as he stepped away from the stove, his onions on. She added in the meat and then took to it with gusto, breaking it up to cook. Tristan ate his lunch without tasting it—without even looking at it—focused as he was on her.
“Got it.” Fred finally came into the kitchen with her computer. She jerked to a stop, seeing the table. “He got here with the sandwiches, and no one told me?”
“You were right behind us in the living room.” Jessie frowned at her. “This house is tiny. You must’ve heard us. What would yelling at you have changed?”
“Say the name,” she said, taking the remaining chair and setting down her laptop. She peered into the bag. “What do we got?”
“We should’ve called her in.” Sebastian balled up his trash. “Asking for the types of sandwiches would’ve made Mr. Tom happy.”
“I think that is turkey,” Tristan said, though he really had no idea. They all looked exactly the same. Mr. Tom hadn’t even scribbled a letter on them.
“Sweet.” Fred nodded, making more room for her lunch and her laptop.
Tristan took the rest of the sandwiches and put them into the fridge, eyeing Natasha’s muscular butt as she finished browning the meat.
