Max felt Vivienne’s gaze on him as he chopped and prepared the ingredients to make the pasta. It was a heady sensation to have someone watch him cook. He liked it.

“You are the first woman I’ve let into my kitchen,” he said. “This is my haven.”

Vivienne’s eyes widened, and an adorable blush colored her cheeks.

“I thought you should know.” He gave her his back to turn on the stove.

“Can I help with something?” Vivienne asked. Her voice sounded huskier than a moment ago. He liked that as well.

“Sure. Bring me the cutting board with the guanciale,” Max answered over his shoulder.

Her soft steps resonated through the kitchen. “Here.” She extended her hand and passed him the wooden board with the cubed meat.

“Thank you.” He intentionally closed the distance she had carefully maintained, coming to stand at her side. His leg brushed hers as he poured the guanciale into the pan warming up on the stove.

“No oil?” she asked, pointing at the pan.

“No, this cured meat is fat enough.” Using a wooden spoon, he stirred the sizzling guanciale. “See, it’s already melting.” He removed the pan from the burner a moment later and opened the tomato sauce cans.

Working with Vivienne at his side, he moved between the counter and the stove, explaining the recipe step by step. She interrupted him from time to time, asking questions that denoted she knew her way around a kitchen. He liked that, too.

When the water boiled in the big pot on the large burner, Vivienne handed him the glass container where he kept the linguine pasta. “Do you remember the cooking time for this kind of pasta?”

Max shrugged, adding the pasta and a big pinch of salt to the pot. “It’s always a minute or two less than what the package instructions suggest.”

Vivienne laughed. “You like it al dente.”

“No other way to eat pasta.” After checking that the tomato sauce was happily bubbling on the small burner, he went to the wine shelf. “What about a Montepulciano?” he asked, showing her one of his prized Italian wines.

“You are the expert. Again, I wouldn’t know a great wine from a mediocre one, giving that I can’t afford good dining.” Vivienne laughed.

“You are different from any of the women I usually hang out with,” Max couldn’t help saying.

“Because I’m dirt poor?” Vivienne raised an eyebrow, but she was still smiling.

“Because you don’t dissimulate.” He smiled back. “It’s refreshing.”

Nowadays, Max’s experience with women was relegated to fancy restaurants and sex in expensive hotels afterward. He had sworn off relationships soon after he became one of the youngest billionaires in the world. Realizing that women wanted to date the tycoon but had no interest in the human being behind the money had burned him deeply. He preferred uncomplicated transactions where the expectations were set in stone for both sides of the equation.

And yet, now that he was cooking for Vivienne, Max remembered he had, once upon a time, craved more profound human interaction.

“Nonsense,” he said, uncorking the bottle of red. “Your nose and tongue will immediately rejoice at the scent and taste of this Montepulciano.”

Vivienne’s brow rose even higher on her forehead. “If you say so, but I warn you that I might not be sophisticated enough for your high standards.”

In the meantime, the pasta was ready. He drained the linguine and added the sauce to the big pot where he stirred the ingredients together before fixing two dishes.

“You are perfect just as you are,” Max said as he set the kitchen table for two. He made it sound casual, but in truth, he had needed a few minutes to sort his thoughts.

“You are a smooth talker, aren’t you?” She lowered her eyes to the heaping plate of Amatriciana pasta he had served her.

Max sat as well. Reaching over the surface, he placed a finger under her chin and raised her face. “I’m just saying the truth.”

When was the last time he had been on a date? A proper date, where he had complimented the girl and tried his best to impress her? Because that was exactly what he was doing now. And he wasn’t even miffed about changing his established habit of not dating. The opposite was true. He was enjoying himself and loved seeing the subtle blush on Vivienne’s cheeks become more pronounced.

What was it about this she-wolf that made him lower his guard? He didn’t do girlfriends. Although Vivienne was different—he couldn’t deny that—he didn’t have time to build relationships. She was complicated, and complicated was another thing he didn’t do.

He lowered his hand and stood, remembering to grab two crystal glasses from the cupboard. “The Montepulciano goes perfectly with the pasta. Its bouquet is rich, filled with nuances that explode in your mouth at the first sip.” After pouring the wine, he walked back to the table and offered her one of the glasses before sitting at her side. “Breathe in the aroma and tell me what comes to mind. Without thinking, what’s the first image you see?”

Vivienne brought the crystal to her lips and tasted the red. A tentative sip at first, followed by a second. Swallowing, she closed her eyes, before looking back at him with a surprised light in her gaze.

“Fields as far as the eye can see. Sunflowers and vines. An old house made of bricks,” she said.

He couldn’t help but stare at her. “That’s what I see when I close my eyes.”

Raw, sensual tension filled the air. Max’s dragon stirred inside his mind.

“Let’s eat before the pasta turns into cold glue,” he said, pointing his chin at her plate.

Vivienne dug in and moaned at her first bite. “I’ve never tasted anything so delicious.”

Temporarily robbed of his ability to speak, Max watched as she ate with great relish. He barely touched his food and waited for her to finish.

“This was amazing,” she said, bringing her glass to her soft, red mouth. “Thank you.”

Max couldn’t stop himself and leaned in. Following his animal instinct, he closed his fingers around her wrist, guiding her hand to the table. Swallowing, Vivienne placed the glass down and turned to face him. Her eyes widened, and her breathing became fast. He pulled her to him, dipping his head. His mouth brushed her soft lips.

The baby decided it was as good a moment as any to wail like a vengeful walrus.