Boyfriend for Hire(26)

I lift the lid slightly on the large pot simmering on the stove. My mouth waters at the aroma, and I can’t help but smile at the thought of Elle walking through my door and doing the same. Half the reason I decided to cook for her was to impress her with my domestic charm. But the other half of the reason? No part of me wants to take Elle in public and share her with other people. All I want is to have her here in my space, just the two of us.

Pecorino. That’s what I’m forgetting. I quickly open my fridge and find a small wedge of the hard, pale cheese sitting in a drawer. Thank God I stay so true to my Italian roots.

A knock on the door makes my stomach drop. She’s here.

I can’t tell if I’m excited or nervous. But my heart is hammering away, and my insides feel like someone twisted them with a fork.

Her effect on me is totally out of the ordinary—yet so damn invigorating at the same time. It’s been a long-ass time since I’ve felt anything other than a professional duty to a woman, and I realize I’ve missed that feeling more than I care to admit.

Before opening the door, I check my reflection in the hallway mirror, pushing a few stray hairs back into place. It’s go time.

When I open the door, my heart skips a beat. Elle’s gorgeous. Somehow even more gorgeous than the last time I saw her.

She smiles and self-consciously tucks her hair behind her ear. “I’m so glad this is you. I was worried I’d be banging on the wrong door.” She chuckles, a slight blush creeping over her chest.

I drink in the sight of her, my mouth twitching with a smile. She’s beautiful. Real. Adorable as fuck.

“Well, I’m glad you found me,” I say, leaning in and placing a kiss on her cheek. I usher her inside, guiding her to the kitchen with my hand resting against the small of her back.

Elle’s blue eyes widen as she takes in the cityscape view from the back wall of windows. “This place is amazing. Your line of work must pay really well, doesn’t it? Maybe I need to rethink my law aspirations and go into finance,” she says, and a small chuckle escapes those gorgeous lips.

My own smile falters for a second. My “finance” job isn’t exactly the reminder I need at this moment.

“Here, let me take your purse.”

For a second, I consider putting it in my bedroom like I would at a party. But ending the night by retrieving her purse from my bed would only lead to one thing. I don’t want her to feel pressured to do anything she’s not ready for, and I don’t want to tempt myself even further. So I place her purse on the couch and return to the kitchen to check on the sauce.

I find Elle leaning against my granite countertop and admiring the view, her position showing off her supple curves. My pulse is racing, and I’m suddenly aware of how nervous I am in her presence.

I haven’t gotten this worked up over a woman in years. What the fuck is going on with me? This date was supposed to help quell these feelings, not make them worse.

“Can I get you something to drink?”

Her gaze travels to me, the corner of her mouth lifting into a half smile. How does her every move manage to be sexy?

“That would be lovely.”

I pull a couple of glasses down from the shelf and pour us each a sparkling water with a slice of lemon. Elle laughs, covering her face with her hands and shaking her head.

“I’m never going to live that night down, am I?”

I hand her a glass, and we clink glasses before taking a sip.

“That night was my fault. And I’m not making the mistake of overserving you again. Seeing you in so much discomfort and knowing I could have stopped it from happening . . . not my proudest moment.”

“Are you kidding? I’m the lightweight who should have known better than to keep downing glass after glass of champagne.”

“We’ll call it a tie, then,” I say, making my way around the island to stand next to her, our arms lightly brushing.

Elle turns to me and raises her glass for a toast, and I raise mine to join her.

“Cheers. To getting to know each other better,” she says, her eyes sparkling in the candlelight.

“And to new beginnings,” I add.

Our eyes lock as our glasses clink, and we each take a sip. Elle smiles at my addition, but the words feel more serious to me. I know she doesn’t understand their weight for me, but I mean them. Something about this woman makes me want to turn over a new leaf. Even if that means taking a massive pay cut for a few months while I find a different line of work.

“So, the sauce needs to simmer for another twenty minutes or so. Why don’t you take a seat by the windows, and I’ll grab us some bread with olive oil?”

“Sounds perfect.”

Elle settles into one of the plush chairs by the windows while I slice a few pieces of fresh, rustic Italian bread. Pouring the oil onto a small dish, I watch her admire the view for the second time this evening. My breath catches when I look at her.

Get a fucking grip, man.

Honestly, I’m starting to think it’s a miracle she can’t read me like an open book. Otherwise, I’d be eating out of the palm of her hand, even though I’m normally the one who has that effect on people.

I join her by the windows, setting the bread and oil on the small round table between us.

Our conversation flows easily, just like it did when we met for coffee. All the nerves weighing me down when Elle first got here slowly fade away. Being in her presence still puts me on edge, but talking with her reminds me how natural our connection is.