“Incredible.”
They ate, and they talked.
She told him about a wedding she had been hired for the previous fall where the bride had decided three days out that she wanted the menu to be a tribute to her grandmother’s village in Sicily. Tessa had spent forty-eight hours sourcing four ingredients she couldn’t find in New York and ended up driving to a specialty importer in New Jersey on the morning of the event. He told her about the time Ronan had insisted on serving guests at his and Devney’s engagement party himself, in the actual chef’s apron, and had given everyone a sermon about each dish before they could eat it. Tessa laughed until the wine in her glass shook.
The second course came. Risotto with wild mushrooms. He watched the tension leave her shoulders, course after course appearing without her lifting a finger.
By the time dessert came—a chocolate soufflé with raspberry coulis—she was leaning back in her chair with wine in her hand, eyes bright and cheeks flushed.
The chef emerged from the kitchen with her bag over her shoulder. “Everything’s covered. The rest is in the fridge. Have a wonderful evening.” She let herself out. The door clicked shut behind her.
“This was wonderful. Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet.”
“Why not?”
He stood and offered his palm. “Because the night isn’t over.”
He guided her to the couch and sat. She turned toward him until the space between them disappeared. Even then, the closeness felt insufficient.
“Come here,” he said.
“Where?”
He rested his palm on his thigh. “Here.”
She hesitated only a fraction of a second before she moved, swinging one leg over his hips and settling into his lap with her knees braced on either side of him. Her palms anchored on his shoulders, and his hands settled at her waist as he brought her firmly against him.
“I’ve been thinking about this all week.”
“Only this?”
“Among other things.”
Her hips moved in a slow, deliberate rhythm that tested his restraint. The heat of her pressed against him through the thin fabric of her dress, and his grip tightened.
“Tessa.”
“Yes.”
“If you keep doing that, I won’t be able to stop.”
“Who asked you to stop?”
He kissed her instead of answering.
Not gentle. Not careful. He kissed her like he’d been waiting half his life, because he had. Her mouth opened under his, and she tasted like wine and chocolate and the dinner he’d planned for her, and the thought that she was here, in his lap, in his arms, after all those years of absence—it hit him harder than any kiss had a right to.
She kissed him back, her fingers sliding into his hair and pulling him closer. He groaned into her mouth, and she swallowed the sound like she’d been waiting to hear it.
“Bedroom,” she said against his lips.
He pulled back. “Are you sure?”
“I’ve been sure since I was sixteen. Take me to bed.”
He stood, raising her with him. She wrapped her legs around his waist and laughed against his shoulder as he carried her down the hall. The sound of it cracked something open dead center in his heart.
