“I’m . . . sorry?” Her accusatory tone seemed to indicate an apology was necessary. “I have a cook, does that count?”
“No.” She raised her hand at her side, keeping her back to him, but silencing him all the same. “Give me a second. I think I’m sporting girl wood.”
The laugh burst out of him, echoing up the vaulted ceilings. “Over my stove?”
“Shh.”
But he couldn’t help himself. “So if I ever need to get you in the mood, I should have kitchen catalogs on hand?”
She spun around with a smirk, but he couldn’t help but notice the sharp little points now pressing against that fitted top.
He chuckled even harder.
“What?” she asked, pressing her lips together, obviously on the verge of a laugh herself.
He waved a hand in her direction, trying to keep his eyes from straying downward again, to no avail. “Nothing. Never mind.”
“Oh, come on. What?” Then she followed his glance and saw what was impossible to miss. She crossed her arms over her chest, mock offense on her face. “Hey, it’s cold in here. And my hair’s still a little wet.”
He nodded solemnly. “Uh-huh. Or you just got turned on by a range.”
She harrumphed and snagged a bag of oranges he’d taken out of one of the grocery sacks, turning to the opposite counter and keeping those perky nipples out of view. “Hey, we all have our kinks, right?”
“Clearly. Makes mental note to bring a spatula and a wooden spoon on our trip to satisfy your kitchen fetish.”
She made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a snort. God, sexy and so fucking cute on top of it.
“So what’s with the groceries?” he asked.
She turned around and shrugged. “I had heard the weather was supposed to get bad and thought we’d eat here instead. Plus, considering the things we have to discuss, I figured a private setting may be better.”
He leaned against the island. “You could’ve mentioned it to me. I would’ve have Ms. Murel prepare something for us before she left for the day.”
The side of her mouth lifted. “I thought I’d cook for you. You know, as a thank you. And because I enjoy it and rarely get to do it for someone outside of the cafe.”
“Oh.” The idea warmed him in a surprising way, that she’d want to prepare something for him. He couldn’t remember the last time someone not on his payroll had made a home-cooked meal for him. Even growing up, meals were always cooked by staff. “Well, I’d like that.”
The smile that crossed her face brightened the whole room. “Good. You sit down then, and we can work out the stuff for the trip while I get things prepared. I’m going for simple since I’m starved and don’t have the patience to wait for anything slow-cooked.”
“Simple sounds great.” He sat down on one of the stools at the island and pointed out where everything was as she set up her prep area.
Once she had the tools she needed and started chopping some of the vegetables for the pasta dish she was making, she got right down to business. “I know you want to talk about negotiating limits and such. But I don’t think we need to spend a lot of time on that. I’m not a novice, so I know what those checklists look like. My main hard limit is that I’m not into verbal humiliation. I’ve been called enough names in my life. I don’t want my lover doing it. Also, I don’t want to be shared.”
He frowned. “I would never do that, Kelsey. That’s not my style.”
She expertly sliced through an onion, her movements sure and efficient. “Good.”
“How do you feel about pain play?” he asked, fascinated as she scooped the diced onion to the side and ran the knife through a pile of mushrooms with delicate precision.
Something flickered across her features. Fear? But she quickly covered it. “I can’t handle canes, single-tailed whips, knife play, or face slapping. And nothing that would require me to take something stronger than aspirin the next day. I try to stay away from medications.”
He nodded. He suspected there was much more behind those limits than she was letting on. The medication one was a pretty obvious tell—she was running from a drug dealer after all. But the expression that had crossed her face at the mention of pain play had a cold feeling gripping his gut. He wanted to ask her more about it, but promised himself he wouldn’t push her anymore tonight. “Fine. Any other hard limits?”
“No. And I’m on the pill and have my medical reports with me. I also got yours this week. So if you want to skip condoms, I’m okay with that.”
He steepled his fingers in front of him, considering her. He didn’t go without condoms. Ever. He trusted that Kelsey was telling the truth about her birth control, but he couldn’t take even the slightest risk that she wasn’t. He’d seen how pregnancy could be used as a weapon, especially when one person was from a certain lot in life and the other wasn’t. The thought was ugly, but he wasn’t going to let the wildly enticing thought of being inside Kelsey bare make him stupid. “I prefer to use condoms regardless.”
She glanced up at him, her gaze knowing and a little wry. She shrugged. “No problem. The safe words at The Ranch are yellow for a pause and a check-in and Texas for everything to stop. Are you okay with me using those?”
“Whatever is easiest for you to remember.” He couldn’t help but notice how she’d taken control of the negotiation. What had happened tonight had obviously sent her back to her comfort zone of calling the shots. He let it slide. For now.
She gathered all the veggies in a bowl and brought them over to the stove where she heated a pan and drizzled some olive oil in it. “So let’s get to the important stuff. Do I need a fake name? Like are people going to expect me to have some recognizable well-to-do family name?”
He frowned. “Not an awful idea. We have to use your real passport, but no one at the retreat should have to see that. How about we use Kelsey Adams? It’s common enough to blend in and easy to remember.”
“All right. I can work with that. So how did we meet?”
“Through mutual friends.” He watched her there, looking so at home by the stove, her movements efficient, second nature, and came up with an off-the-cuff backstory. “You were looking for an investor for a restaurant you want to open.”
She peeked over her shoulder. “Why would I have come to you for that?”
“I do some venture capitalist stuff on the side, invest in local startups on occasion. Or help businesses expand like I did with Jace’s store. I’m a silent partner in that now.”
“Wow, that must be fun to do.”
“What do you mean?”
“Giving someone money to help their dream business get up and running. It’s got to feel like being a fairy godmother or something.”
He smirked, amused by the notion. “You make it sound quite romantic, but it’s not an emotional decision. It’s simply business. If I believe something will make money, it’s a good use of my funds.”
“I want a bakery.”
“Hmm?” he said, dragging the cutting board to his side of the island and taking it upon himself to slice the French baguette she’d bought.
“Let’s make the story that I wanted to open a bakery. If I get to create a faux life, I may as well use my real pie-in-the-sky goals to fill it.”
“You want a bakery?”
She tossed some minced garlic into the sizzling oil. “I love to cook anything and everything, but my first love is pastry.”
“Then a bakery you shall have,” he said resolutely. “We can say that you’ve put those plans on hold for now since you want to refine your natural skills by going to culinary school.”
She gave a quick nod of agreement. “How long have we been seeing each other?”
He sliced another piece of bread, failing in his effort to make each slice the same size. “Let’s say two months. I was seen out at events with someone else before that, so that would make the most sense.”
“Someone else?” Kelsey asked, adding the rest of the vegetables, all except the mushrooms. “A girlfriend?”
“A colleague.”
She stirred the contents of the pan. “Who you were sleeping with.”
“Yes,” he said, not liking where this conversation was going.
“And why isn’t she around anymore?”
He sent her a warning glance when she peeked his way again. “Is that so important to know?”
“I’m exceptionally nosy. You should know that about me.” She flashed him an unapologetic smile. “My sister always joked that I should’ve become a therapist like her since I’m so fascinated by other people’s personal lives.”
He shook his head. Usually he was as private and tight-lipped about his life as anyone could be, even his brother had to drag things out of him. But Wyatt was having trouble mustering up the will to dodge Kelsey’s questioning. “She knew what she was getting into when we started seeing each other. Her feelings changed over time, and she wanted more. I didn’t.”
She added the mushrooms, then poured cream into the mix and added a few pats of butter. “Sounds complicated.”
“It wasn’t. At least not on my end.”
She seemed to consider that for a moment, her back to him. Then she dipped a spoon into the simmering sauce and turned around, blowing gently across the steaming sauce she’d captured. “Are all the things in your life always that cut and dried? That neat?”
He looked down at the uneven slices of bread, the imperfection annoying him more than it should. “I try to keep it that way. Yes.”
“Mmm,” she said, some indiscernible judgment underlying the innocuous sound. She held out the spoon for him to taste. “And then you invite a waitress, who has a gang after her, on a business trip. Are you sure you’re not the practical Wyatt Austin’s reckless twin brother? This is anything but neat.”
He opened his mouth to answer but she guided the spoon forward. The delicate cream sauce hit his tongue, the buttery decadence balanced perfectly with the fresh herbs she’d added to it. “That’s delicious.”
She sniffed. “Of course it is. Told you I can cook.”
“And no, I’m not my evil twin brother. But being around you does tend to tempt me away from my best laid plans. I was supposed to take things slow tonight.”
She reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze. “To be honest, I’m kind of glad you didn’t. I was getting really nervous to come over here tonight. After a week apart, I thought it might be awkward. Plus, despite what happened at The Ranch, it’s still hard to wrap my head around all this. It feels a little surreal.”
He curled his fingers around hers, rubbing a thumb over her wrist. “Surreal?”
“A few weeks ago, I was serving you eggs and now I’m—”
“Serving me, period,” he said softly.
Her lashes dipped. “Yes.”
He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed the center of her palm. “It’s just as surreal for me, love. Maybe best laid plans aren’t all they’re cracked up to be.”
He could see her throat work as she swallowed hard. “You ready for dinner?”
“I’m ready for it all.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Kelsey finished wiping down the table in the kitchen and loaded their dishes into the dishwasher while the storm still hammered the house. Wyatt had told her not to worry about any of the cleanup. He had a housekeeper who would be there the next day. But she wouldn’t have been able to sleep knowing that dirty dishes were in the sink. Her sister, Brynn, had ingrained in her that no food was to ever be left out. They’d waged a constant battle with roaches in the crappy little rental they’d lived in growing up, and the habit of making sure everything was spotless had never gone away. In her days of addiction, she’d lost sight of that, but it’d been the first thing she’d gotten back on track with once she’d sobered up. Clean house meant clean Kelsey.