Chapter Ten
Dante stared at his laptop but couldn’t see a thing.
No matter how many times he read the same line, it blurred into unrecognizable gibberish. He was fighting the urge to fall asleep, and sleep was winning.
The blare of a tuba startled him, and he shook his head awake. The tuba turned out to be just Gomez snoring from his kennel. The meds he was taking put him into a deep sleep, which made his snores increase in decibels. Dante debated whether he should try to finish his brief or just go to bed.
The sound of the doorbell gave him a third option.
He opened the front door and, just like that, sleep was the last thing on his mind.
“We’re cooking dinner,” Alexa announced as she handed him a heavy shopping bag and then walked past him toward the kitchen.
“We are?” he asked as he shut the door.
When he caught up to her in the kitchen, she was already unpacking the other two bags she’d brought. “I’m going to make you soup, and you’re going to help me.”
“Didn’t you get my text? I said you didn’t need to come over. Gomez is resting. He’s going to be fine.”
“I know,” she said as she took off her sweater, unveiling a sleeveless black blouse that instinctively made him want to bite her bare shoulder. “Besides, I’m not here to take care of Gomez. I’m here to take care of you.”
He liked the sound of that and moved behind her to kiss her neck. “Why don’t you take care of me right here, right now.”
She laughed and maneuvered her body away from his. “I meant that I was here to make sure you had dinner. I stayed here for a couple of nights, remember? I know that you have absolutely nothing in your cupboard and that your fridge is more of a wine cellar than a place to keep food. You need to eat, and since I’m sure you’re worried about Gomez, I figured you could use some comfort food. And for me, soup is comfort food.”
On cue, his stomach grumbled. “But aren’t you supposed to be running a kitchen right now?”
“Yes, but Brandon came back this afternoon and Gabriel is perfectly capable of handling things for another night.”
He pulled her into his arms and gave her long, slow kiss. “Thank you for being here,” he said.
“You’re welcome,” she said with a smile. “So tell me again what the vet said.”
As suspected, nothing was broken, he explained. But the X-rays had revealed another problem. Gomez had the early stages of hip dysplasia. It was a common ailment among bulldogs—a genetic abnormality because of their breeding. Although Gomez could go years without another joint issue, it was better to treat hip dysplasia earlier rather than later.
“So you’re thinking about surgery?” she asked, her voice thick with concern.
“I am. He goes back to the vet in a week, and we’ll talk about it and our other options then.”
The weight of worry pressed tighter against his chest. He’d been researching the surgery all day, and it seemed like that would be Gomez’s best hope. Otherwise, he could be doomed to a short life filled with lots of pain.
“I’m sorry you have to go through this. I know you’re worried.”
“I am. But you’re making it all better with your food and your kisses.”
They kissed again until she pushed him away and told him they needed to get to work. “All right, all right. Let me go check on Gomez one more time and then I’m all yours.”
Unable to control the urge any longer, he nipped her bare shoulder before leaving.
“Where do you keep your spatulas?” she yelled after him.
“I think I only have one, and it’s in the drawer next to the stove.” Dante bent down to peek inside the kennel. Gomez opened one eye, aware of his presence. When he closed it again, Dante knew he’d probably be out for the night. Deep snoring confirmed his suspicion as he walked back into the kitchen. He was about to ask Alexa if she’d found his single spatula when he noticed her flipping through a stack of unopened mail. Uneasiness fluttered through him when she looked up and caught his eye.
Guilt washed over her expression. “Sorry, I must have opened the wrong drawer. I thought maybe the spatula was underneath these.”
He walked over and took the envelopes from her and slid them back into where he’d been keeping them. Then he opened the drawer on the other side of the stove and pulled out the spatula. “Here you go,” he told her.
She took it and gave him a little smile before turning her attention back to the garlic she’d been chopping.
He went to his cupboard, pulled out two wineglasses, and then grabbed the bottle she’d brought.
“So…who’s Lucy Jenkins?” She asked what he’d been waiting for her to ask.
Dante took a breath before answering. “She used to live here. This was her house.”
“That’s a lot of mail. You could probably just take it to the post office and they’ll forward it to her new address.”
He uncorked the wine. “She doesn’t have a new address. She died.”
“Oh. Okay,” she said as she placed four tomatoes in a pan sitting on the stove. If she wanted more of an explanation, she didn’t ask. Guilt burned him for his own silence on the subject.
It would have been the perfect opportunity to tell her about the house and Lucy. To tell her everything. He’d wanted to for a while now. But whenever he thought about coming clean about his past, a sense of shame would grip his chest, wrapping around him like branches of a possessed tree in some kid’s nightmare. It always held him back. Because the last thing he wanted from people—especially Alexa—was to be pitied. He’d come too far and accomplished too much to ever allow others to define him by things that had never been in his control.
“You’re better than your circumstances,” Lucy would always tell him.
She’d been right. And over the years, his circumstances had changed. And so he never saw any reason to go back to a place he’d left a long time ago.
It was time to talk about other things.
“So what kind of soup are we making?” he said after handing her a glass of wine.
She wiped her hands on a paper towel and took the drink. “I call it Christmas soup, but I don’t think that’s the real name. It’s not my recipe. Someone else taught me how to make it a long time ago and she only used to make it around Christmastime, so that’s why I call it that.”
“So this isn’t something you have on the menu?”
“Nope. Like I said, it’s not my recipe. This is something I usually only make for me and my friends. Okay, let’s put you to work. Please tell me you know how to boil an egg?”
He did. She also put in him charge of slicing a small brick of Monterey Jack cheese into thick rectangles. Meanwhile, she concentrated on the tomatoes cooking on the stove.
“I really need to buy you a comal,” she told him as she examined the blackened and peeling skin of one of the tomatoes.
Dante popped a piece of cheese into his mouth and then mumbled, “You probably shouldn’t, since I have no idea what that is and wouldn’t know the first thing about using it.”
“It’s a round cast-iron griddle you can use to char vegetables or to warm up tortillas. You’re Mexican, right? Didn’t your mom or abuelita have one in the kitchen?”
He hesitated before answering. He didn’t want to lie, but he also still didn’t feel like delving into the past. “Let’s just say I wasn’t allowed in the kitchen when I was kid.”
“And that explains a lot,” she said with a laugh. “Now, me? My mami couldn’t keep me out of it.”
“That also explains a lot,” he teased.
After the tomatoes were cooked and had cooled a bit, she showed him how to peel the rest of the skins off. Then she placed them into a larger pot with hot oil and a few cloves of garlic. The combination of the three caused a pungent and sweet smell that immediately made his stomach growl again.
“Is this going to be like a tomato soup?” he asked as he studied the different pots and pans cooking on the stove.
She shrugged as she stirred. “Kind of. But I’m going to add chicken broth to this and then the last step will be the spaghetti, once it’s finished boiling, too.”
“And what about the eggs and cheese?”
“Those are the toppings!” Her excitement was adorable. He couldn’t help himself and gave her a peck on the forehead. As he continued watching her assemble the rest of the ingredients, the smile on his lips only grew wider. He was happy—a complete turnaround from everything he’d been feeling at the vet’s office.
When had not having sex with Alexa turned into something so enjoyable? They’d always gotten along, of course. But their friendship since Puerto Rico had been more on the superficial side, with small talk and a fleeting interest in each other’s personal lives. Nothing more, nothing less. Never would he have ever imagined them cooking a meal together or going dancing. Sleeping together had changed so much between them. Much more than he had ever expected.
Stop. Don’t start seeing things that aren’t there.
Alexa was still Alexa. She cooked food for people all the time. It was her job, for Christ’s sake. This scene—no matter how cozy and domesticated it felt—didn’t mean anything to her, and it couldn’t mean anything to him. No matter how much a part of him was starting to want it to.
Less than twenty minutes later, the soup was done. He insisted on serving her, so she sat down at his retro kitchen table and watched with amusement as he tried to figure out how to get both the noodles and broth into a bowl at the same time. Eventually, he figured it out and joined her at the table. She topped her soup with the cheese and slices of boiled egg, and then he followed her example. He’d never seen or heard of such a mixture, but he trusted her palate more than he trusted his own.
With one timid sip, he finally tasted their creation.
The perfectly cooked noodles, now covered in melted cheese, floated in the delicious orange-colored broth. The yolks from the slices of boiled egg had tempered the rich tomato flavor and made it more creamy and hearty.
“This is comfort food,” he said after two more gulps.
She nodded. “I told you.”
After a few seconds of quiet, except for his enthusiastic slurping, he asked, “I’ve never tasted anything quite like this. Is it a Puerto Rican dish?”
“I don’t think so,” she said after wiping her mouth with a napkin. “The woman who taught me how to make it was Mexican, I think. She and her husband ran the first restaurant I worked in when I moved here from Puerto Rico. She just called it sopa.”
“So you were the cook at her restaurant?”
“Not at first,” she said with a laugh. “I started as a waitress. She was the chef, and she refused to let me cook in her kitchen for the first three months I was there. She was kind of a control freak.”
He choked on the spoonful of soup he’d just swallowed. “I can only imagine you two working together,” he rasped after taking a drink of wine.
“Funny. Anyway, one day she brought me a container of her sopa. It was the week before Christmas and I was going to go back home for a few days. So she told me to taste the sopa and when I came back, I was going to have to make it for her—without the recipe.”
“She expected you to figure it out on your own? Why?”
“I told you she was a control freak. She wasn’t ready to give up her kitchen, even though her husband told her every day that it was getting to be too much work for her. So this was her way of auditioning me.”
“Let me guess. You nailed it.”
“Not even close. You should’ve seen the look in her eyes. She was so smug, so satisfied. It pissed me off like I’ve never been pissed off before.”
He’d known Alexa a long time and had seen her angry before. He immediately felt sorry for that woman.
“So you quit?”
She took another sip of soup before answering. “I did. But then I went home and tried to make it again. I came back the next day with a new batch, and that time I was so sure I’d made it perfectly.”
“You didn’t?”
She shook her head. “I didn’t. It took me seven more batches and seven more days to get it as close as possible to hers. Even then, she never told me that it was good. All she did was offer me a job as a part-time cook.”
“How long did you end up working there?”
“Only a few more months. Her husband got real sick and they had to close the restaurant. By then, we’d become friends. Do you know that to this day, she’s still never given me her recipe?”
Dante laughed at Alexa’s exasperation. Clearly, this woman was as stubborn as she was, and it annoyed her. “Well, as you can see I’ve nearly licked my bowl clean, so I don’t think you really need it.”
“I guess. And, honestly, I never understood why until that night in Formosa when I saw most of my dishes on Nick’s menu. He even had arroz con pollo. Although I didn’t taste it, I know in my heart that he’s using my abuelita’s recipe, because it never occurred to me back then that I shouldn’t share it with him. And I also know that he’s probably disgracing it and her memory every time he makes it.”
He reached across the table to grab her hand. “Then it’s not her recipe. If he never tasted the original, how can it be the same? Only you know what it’s really supposed to taste like, because she handed that secret down to you and only you.”
A strange twinge of jealousy squeezed his heart. And it had nothing to do with the mention of Nick this time. Instead, he wondered for a second what it would have been like to have a grandmother or grandfather in his life. What sort of things could they have taught him so he could then pass them down to his own children and grandchildren?
She met his eyes and smiled. “I never thought about it like that. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. And thank you for sharing your Christmas soup with me. I’m definitely full and totally comforted,” he said truthfully.
After all the dishes were clean and the leftovers put away, they checked on Gomez one last time and then headed into the bedroom.
He grabbed her as soon as they were through the door.
“Thank you for dinner,” he said before giving her a quick kiss. “And thank you for dessert.”
She arched one of her perfect eyebrows. “But I didn’t make dessert.”
“I know. Dessert is you,” he said and captured her mouth again.
…
Alexa looked up at Dante’s ceiling. It was the popcorn kind, of course.
She moved her eyes to the ties binding her wrists to the headboard. Those were from Barneys New York. Brandon had the same exact ones.
She shook her head. This wasn’t the time to be thinking of her brother. Not when she was completely naked and tied to Dante’s bed.
He’d teased a few times about wanting to tie her up, but she’d never guessed he was serious. So when he finally asked her permission to do it, she said yes more out of curiosity than anything. Being tied up required a level of trust. And, before Dante, she’d never trusted any lover to do it. But as soon as he’d asked, she knew she would be safe.
She’d even dismissed the little nagging in her head that wanted to analyze why she trusted him so much.
Even then, completely helpless and on display, Alexa waited for Dante with anticipation. He’d left to retrieve what he called “supplies” from the kitchen, and all she could do was examine everything in her field of view. Maybe she should be thinking of sexy things so she’d be warmed up by the time he came back?
Who was she fooling? Her horny meter went from zero to sixty whenever he was in her vicinity.
And to prove her own point, she heard him coming down the hallway, and her nipples instantly hardened.
Lord, she was hopeless.
He appeared holding a can of whipped cream and a bowl of strawberries—two things she’d brought the other day for some late-night snacking. “Dessert is served,” he said with a devilish grin.
Dante placed the items on the nightstand and then took off his clothes. She loved looking at his body. It didn’t even embarrass her when he caught her staring. He did the same thing to her.
His cock was already at attention. Dante stroked it up and down as he watched her. It was the most erotic thing she’d ever seen, and her pussy clenched.
“I think you’re going to like what I have in store for you,” he said, his voice thick and gravelly.
He grabbed the can of whipped cream and was about to spray it on his penis when she stopped him. “What about your comforter and sheets? This is going to be messy, isn’t it?”
“That’s what a washer is for,” he said, the amusement evident on his face.
After he was covered in the cream, he moved onto the bed and settled over her on his knees. She strained against the ties, anxious for a second that she couldn’t move. But then his cock was in her face and she forgot all about it. Hungrily, she licked the length of his shaft. She moaned in appreciation as she tasted the sweetness of the whipped cream mixed with the saltiness of his skin.
“You like that, huh? Now take all of me in your mouth,” he ordered.
She happily complied and covered him with her lips, taking him all the way to the back of her throat. When she slid her mouth back to the pulsing head, the whipped cream had disappeared.
“Good girl. Now it’s my turn for some sweetness.”
He plucked a strawberry from the bowl, the stem already cut off. Dante put the dark red fruit between his teeth and leaned down to her mouth. She strained her neck and took a bite, meeting his lips in the process. The taste of the berry burst in her mouth, and she savored every morsel. Then he pulled away and let her swallow before coming back down for another turn. When the strawberry was finished, he licked her lips clean.
“Mmm. Now for the whipped cream.”
He held the can over her breasts and squirted two swirls of white over each nipple. She writhed underneath him as he went to work licking and sucking each one until there was no more cream left.
Dante moved down the bed, taking the can with him. She knew what he was going to do, and she shuddered again in anticipation.
The cream was cool against her skin, but she was absolutely sure it would melt once it touched the heat between her legs. Still, he squeezed more and more and she strained to look down there. His head had moved between her thighs, and his eyes were hidden by a mound of white.
Then with slow, deliberate strokes, Dante begin to lick the cream off her pussy.
Madre de dios! She’d never felt so sensual or aroused. Her thighs fell open wider, and she ground herself against his tongue.
“Yes, Dante, yes,” she cried.
He responded to her eagerness with a nip of her clit. Her hips bucked off the bed, nearly knocking him off, too. She couldn’t stand the sensation. It was too good. Too amazing.
“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he grunted. “I’m going to slide in so easily. Is that what you want?”
“Uh-huh.” It was the only word she could manage at the moment.
The first wave of the orgasm hit her hard, and she yanked on her ties. Dante shot off the bed, rolled on a condom, and then was inside her in just a few seconds.
“That’s right, Alexa. Squeeze my cock with your pussy. God, you feel so fucking good right now.”
Pleasure and then more pleasure rolled through her as he pumped in and out. She’d never had such a welcome release. Her whole body was floating, and she didn’t want to come down.
Perhaps sensing that she was on the other side of her orgasm, Dante increased the speed of his thrusts, and soon he was shouting her name as he unleashed his own climax. He stilled above her, and she noticed the tinge of heat still in his eyes. He looked as though he was thinking of devouring her all over again.
“I’m never going to use whipped cream again without thinking of you.” Then he bent down to kiss her, and she melted all over again.
After he untied her and checked her wrists for marks, he fell back down on his side and rolled her over until she was settled in the nook of his arm. They stayed there for a few minutes in a wonderfully satiated silence.
“That was amazing,” she finally said as she dragged a finger up the center of his chest. “Thank you.”
He kissed the top of her head. “You’re welcome. I love it when you’re grateful. Hey, how about you pay me back by going to this dinner thing at a client’s house next month?”
Her finger stopped moving. “What’s a dinner thing?” she asked.
“Drinks. Food. You know, the usual dinner party stuff. Except with bankers and lawyers. I know, not very exciting, but since I have to go anyway, I figured it will be 100 percent more entertaining with you there.”
Warning bells sounded. She pulled away to look at him. “So it would be like a date?”
“Yeah. I guess. What’s the big deal? We have dinner together all the time at the restaurant or at one of our places. This would just be dinner at someone else’s house.”
“Um. I’m not sure. I’ll let you know, okay?” She sat up and moved to get off the bed.
He grabbed her arm. “Where are you going?”
“To the bathroom to get cleaned up and dressed. It’s getting late.”
“Stay the night.”
“I can’t.” She pulled her arm away and stood up.
“Why not?” he asked as he rolled onto his side and propped his head in his hand.
“Because I don’t have any clothes or a toothbrush or—”
“I have an extra toothbrush, and you can go home to change in the morning before heading to the restaurant.”
Anxiety welled up inside her. First he wanted to take her to a dinner at a client’s house and now he wanted her to spend the night? She’d been trying so hard to walk the line between casual sex and a romantic relationship because she wanted to prove that she could leave her emotions out of the bedroom. She’d never expected him to be the one to want to blur that line.
It was too much. Too fast.
“I can’t stay,” she blurted.
Dante studied her face. “Okay, what’s up? Did I do something? Say something?”
“It’s nothing.”
“Okay, now I know for sure it’s something. Tell me, Alexa.”
“It’s just that—”
“What?”
“I’m not ready.”
He chuckled, and her irritation grew. “It’s not like I’m asking you to move in. It’s just one night.”
“That’s what you say now. But one night tonight and another night next week and then we’re spending nights at my house and—”
“And…”
“And that wasn’t our deal,” she admitted.
He winced. “I thought you trusted me. After what we just did—”
“That was sex. One has nothing to do with the other.”
Dante ran his hand through his hair in obvious frustration. “You really believe that?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know.”
His expression hardened. “Then I guess you’d better go before it gets any later. It’s a long drive back to your place.”
She hated the chill in his voice. But she didn’t know how to change it without saying something she didn’t believe to be true.
She stood up and walked into the bathroom to clean up and get dressed. She’d half expected him to try to continue their conversation through the door.
But nothing could be said that hadn’t been already.
When she walked out, he had turned onto his side, facing away from her.
Alexa stayed there for a few minutes wondering if she should just crawl back into bed with him. It would be easier than this. And it was only one night. But something she couldn’t quite explain held her back and kept her frozen in place.
After a couple of minutes, her anxiety dissipated and she could move again. But she didn’t go to him. Instead, she walked out his front door and into the cool empty night.