We pull up to a high-rise, and I must look confused because Harrison grabs my hand and gives it a squeeze.
“I thought I would cook for you tonight. Is that okay? I promise no funny business… unless you instigate it.”
I smile wide at his thoughtfulness mixed with playfulness. I truly like this man. If I’m not careful, I could fall in too deep.
I’m not at all surprised when he hits the button for the penthouse once we’re in the elevator. The tension builds with every floor we pass until Harrison pulls me into his arms and takes my lips in a sizzling hot kiss. My whole body becomes soft and pliant for him. I press my hardened nipples to his chest, loving the friction. My pussy is hot and wet, needy.
The bell dings letting us know we’ve arrived, and we reluctantly part. “What is it about elevators?” he asks gruffly.
I lick my lips. “Not sure, but I’m definitely not going to ever look at them the same way again.”
He chuckles. “It’s going to be quite awkward to get a hardon every time I ride in one, that’s for sure.”
My cheeks heat with a blush. He tucks a stray hair behind my ear and bends down to kiss me again. I let out a little sigh, parting my lips happily for him. The kiss is a quick one, but no less heat-inducing than the last. If he’s not careful, I’m just going to melt into a puddle at his feet.
“Let’s get you fed,” he growls into my lips. “Otherwise, I’ll never stop kissing you.”
“I’d be okay with that,” I moan, kissing him again. Threading my fingers through his hair and holding him close.
Too soon, he pulls away, untangling me from his body. “Dinner… I didn’t bring you here for this.”
I push my bottom lip out in a pout, but he just laughs. He leads me through his posh apartment to the kitchen. It’s impressive. Every high-end appliance a chef could want and then some. “This is nice,” I say, running my hand across the marble countertop.
“It gets the job done.” He’s at the refrigerator getting out all the ingredients he needs for dinner.
“I didn’t take you for someone who cooks.”
Harrison gives me a sly smile. “A single man either learns to cook, eats takeout every night, or hires someone to cook for them. I enjoy my privacy too much for a personal chef, and takeout gets monotonous. Plus, I just like cooking. It’s relaxing.”
I like his answer. I like that even though he could hire someone to cook his meals for him, he prefers to do it himself. It proves he’s not consumed by the fact that he’s stinking rich. It makes him a little more real—attainable. That’s a dangerous thought.
“I’ll admit. I’m not much of a cook, but I love to bake.”
“Sounds like we’re a perfect fit. I cook dinner, then have you for dessert.”
“I think you mean I make dessert?”
“I said what I meant,” he says, giving me a heated look. Those green-gold eyes of his eating me up from head to toe, lingering on my breasts where I know my nipples are hard and pressing against my blouse.
“Oh…”
“Yeah… oh…”
I blush at that. Whew, this man is going to have my cheeks constantly pink. I’ve never been the blushing type. I mean, I write romance novels for a living, I’m not at all a prude. I didn’t think I would be prone to embarrassment, but something about his words and how he looks at me has me blushing like crazy.
He quickly whips up a delicious smelling stir fry, and we sit down to eat. Our conversation flows smoothly. He asks me more about my job, and I reveal to him that I have been struggling with it lately but that my block seems to be over. I blush again at admitting that because if he asked what got me over the block, he would be the answer, and I’m a terrible liar. Thankfully, he lets the subject drop.
We talk about Rita, another subject that’s a bit of a hot spot because the last thing I really want to talk about is the fact that I came to her to find a man. Thankfully, we steer clear of all things Rita Matches.
“What about your family?” he asks.
I set my fork down and wipe my mouth with my napkin. A spike of pain sears through my heart like it does every time I think of my mother. “My dad died suddenly when I was six. My mom passed a couple years ago. Cancer. It was rough.”
A warm hand closes over mine and squeezes. “I’m sorry for your loss. I can’t imagine.”
I give him a sad smile. “It’s okay. It’s hard being an only child. Thankfully I have Zoe. My best friend is annoying, justlike what I assume a sibling would be… maybe enough for two siblings.”
Harrison laughs, and the mood is lightened. We clear the dishes together and load the dishwasher. It’s very domestic, not something I would’ve ever guessed would feel natural with a man like him, but it does. I could see us doing this night after night.
