“Angelo thinks everything you make is amazing. Pretty sure you could serve him cardboard and he’d compliment your seasoning.”
We reached the porch of the tiny house, and Dante paused before opening the door, turning to face me. His dark eyes caught the afternoon sun, and my heart began to race. His hair was mussed from the wind and his cheeks flushed from the day’s work. He was looking more at home in his worn jeans and flannel than he ever had in the expensive suits he’d arrived in.
“What?” he asked, catching me staring.
“Nothing,” I said, but I couldn’t stop the smile spreading across my face. “Just thinking about how different things are now. From when you first showed up.”
His expression softened, and he reached up to cup my jaw. “Good different or bad different?”
“Obviously good,” I said without hesitation. “Really good.”
He kissed me then, soft and sweet, and I melted into it like I always did. When we finally pulled apart, he was grinning.
“Come on,” he said, opening the door. “Let’s get you fed before you waste away to nothing.”
I followed him inside, immediately kicking off my boots by the door. The house smelled like Italian food and olive oil from his dinner the night before. I wasn’t sure I’d ever get used to that, but I loved it so much that I didn’t care. He headed straight for the kitchen, pulling open the fridge.
“Looks like there’s two cutlets,” he confirmed, holding up the container. “You want them cold or should I heat them up?”
“Heat them up in the air fryer,” I said, moving to wash my hands at the sink. “And maybe make some pasta to go with it? That ricotta kind is really good.”
“Demanding,” he teased, but he was already pulling out ingredients. “What am I, your personal chef?”
“You’re my husband,” I corrected, coming up behind him and wrapping my arms around his waist. “And you happen to be a damn good cook. I’m just taking advantage of my marital benefits.”
He leaned back against me, and I felt him relax in my hold. “Marital benefits, huh? Is that all I’m good for?”
“Well,” I said, pressing a kiss to his neck, “you’re pretty good at other things too.”
“Other things,” he repeated, his voice dropping lower. “You’re gonna have to be more specific.”
I slid my hands up under his shirt, feeling the warm skin beneath. His breath hitched, and I felt a surge of satisfaction at affecting this east coast mobster so easily.
“You know,” I murmured against his ear, “ranch work. Paperwork. Balancing the books.”
He turned in my arms, his eyes dark with heat. “Is that what you want to talk about right now? Paperwork?”
“Not even a little bit,” I admitted, already pulling him closer.
The cold chicken cutlets were forgotten on the counter as he kissed me, hard and hungry, his hands fisting in my shirt. I walked him backward until his hips hit the counter, then lifted him onto it without breaking the kiss. He wrapped his legs around my waist, pulling me flush against him, and I could feel how hard he was already.
“I thought you were starving,” he gasped when I moved my mouth to his neck.
“I am,” I said, working at the buttons of his shirt. “Just not for food anymore.”
He laughed, breathless, his head falling back as I kissed down his throat. “You’re insatiable.”
“You complaining?”
“Not even a little bit.”
I got his shirt open and pushed it off his shoulders, taking a moment to just look at him. The bruising from his ribs was completely gone now, leaving nothing but smooth, tanned skin. I traced my fingers over the spot where the worst of it had been, remembering how terrified I’d been in that hospital.
“Hey,” he said softly, catching my hand. “I’m okay. It’s all better now.”
“I know,” I said, lacing our fingers together. “I just... sometimes I still can’t believe this is real. That you’rereal.”
His expression softened, and he pulled me in for another kiss, this one slower, deeper. When he pulled back, his eyes were bright.
