Knight Nostalgia: A Knights of the Board Room Anthology(41)
“Which spice did you say you used on those fabulous green beans you made us at family dinner last month?” Rachel asked.
“This one.” He picked it up and handed it to her to examine. “But you can play with your preferences. The key to them is the cooking.” Moving further down the aisle, he found the bouillon cubes he preferred for fresh vegetables and handed that over. “Put the least amount of water possible in the sauce pan and flavor it with one of those. You have to stay right on top of them so they don’t burn, but it’s when they absorb that bare amount of water and still stay crisp that they turn out the best.”
Rachel was listening intently, but he noticed her gaze strayed past him, caught by something that made a little smile appear on her face. The three matrons were a few feet away and apparently had overheard him. One of them sighed.
“I want to take him home and just watch him cook.”
The one who’d winked at him scoffed. “I want to do more than that with him.”
Rachel chuckled and Ben grinned, nodding courteously their way. “I’m flattered, ladies, but I am taken.” He gestured toward Marcie, engrossed in a choice between Santa-and snowflake-shaped pastas. “That poor girl can’t boil an egg. She needs me.”
The third matron studied Marcie and harrumphed. “That girl doesn’t need to boil an egg. If you fall down on the job, she’ll have a passel of men standing in line to do it for her.”
Ouch. He couldn’t argue with the truth. He couldn’t stand on equal footing with the standard white knight, his stable background and normal wish for picket fences and two point five kids.
But Ben could use the darkness within him to reach down in Marcie’s soul and, through restraint and pain, open it up like a flower, give her the complete surrender she needed.
The white knight couldn’t do that for her in his pretty fucking world. Couldn’t understand the part of her that Ben had intuited for so long was there, but had made himself ignore it. Until Marcie refused to let him do so.
Stay out of your head, he told himself, remembering Savannah’s far too insightful yet gentle reproof. Stay out of the dark places.
With a nod to the women, and giving Rachel’s arm an affectionate stroke, he moved toward Marcie. When he reached her, he pressed against her back and plucked the pastas from her hands, putting them back on the display. “Novelty pasta is as horrific as novelty chocolate,” he informed her. “It’s not entering my house.”
She gave him a pouty look. “But the Santas are so cute. I was going to make Angelica mac and cheese with them when I babysit her near Christmas. I already put dibs on the night Savannah and Matt go to that big holiday charity bash they attend every year.”
“Sure, play the Angelica card.” He sighed and put the Santa pasta back in her hand. She tossed him a triumphant look, but tilted her head to look around him at the trio of older women. They were examining hand towels and pot holders. One put a cow-shaped one on her hand and mooed at the other ladies. Marcie grinned.
“So, they want to take you home to cook for them? And do other things?”
“Donkey ears,” he said.
“Maybe you should see how well off they are,” Marcie said practically, ignoring the jibe. “You could be a kept man, only required to cook and look pretty. A lot easier than your current job.”
“Are you kidding? I know women. They’d be three times more demanding than Matt.”
She sniffed. “Janet claims nothing is more demanding than Matt.”
“Which is why she’s paid twice what we all are, to put up with him.”
“She wishes,” Marcie said. “I’m going to tell her you suggested it. Who does get the most obscene salary? I know Matt’s is the biggest, since he’s top of the pyramid. Salary, that is.” She shot him a mischievous look and he snorted.
“Who says we get paid? We come to work purely for the orgasmic joy of it. And that is an entirely inappropriate question, Marcella.”
She dimpled, but he saw her bemused reaction when he used her full name and said it in mock stern tone, which wasn’t far off from his actual stern tone. Both of which could catch her attention in intriguing ways. Most of the time. Her gaze had flickered past him.
“Ooh, more samples.”
He shook his head with a smile and followed her over to a crescent-shaped buffet of dip samples, coupled with the store’s recommended cracker selections. He put his hand on her arm, stopping her before she reached for one, and did it himself, swirling a cracked pepper and wheat cracker in the Cajun-style dip and offering it to her. She picked up the cues immediately and didn’t reach for it, instead parting her lips so he could place the quarter-sized cracker on her tongue.
He brushed her lips with his fingers as she closed her mouth and tasted the mix. Her brown eyes were thoughtful. “Pretty good. Spicy in the right way, not enough to sandblast out the flavor. May I have another, of that kind?” She gestured toward a ranch-style dip.
He used a ruffled chip to scoop it out and bring it to her lips. She licked at his fingers, getting his flesh and the salt of the chip, and he slid a knuckle along her soft cheek, the curve of her chin. She was gazing up at him. As incredibly ridiculous as it might seem, everything literally disappeared for him but her. Just her. He leaned in and spoke against her ear.
“I want to be inside you right now.” All the damn time.