Total pages in book: 32
Estimated words: 29429 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 147(@200wpm)___ 118(@250wpm)___ 98(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29429 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 147(@200wpm)___ 118(@250wpm)___ 98(@300wpm)
"Oh! Um, yes. I'm just making some fall sangria."
He steps up close, putting his hands on either side of me and pressing me against the counter. He dips his head down to kiss my neck.
"Delia," he murmurs, nipping at the sensitive skin under my ear. "Stop ignoring my question."
"I...huh?"
"I asked how much longer you're going to be."
How does he expect me to concentrate when his mouth is doing that? I tilt my head and let him continue. "Well, the sangria doesn't take too long. It's basically done. Why?"
"Just wondering when I will get you all to myself." He pulls back, and there's that mouth twitch again. "You seem surprised to see me in my work gear."
Flustered, I gesture at his entire body with my hands. "I wasn't expecting it, no. You look...nice."
"Nice?" He prods, hands drifting to my hips. At this rate, these apples are never going to get cut.
"Really nice. It's hot, actually. Do you like wearing it?"
He huffs a small laugh. "Not really. I only wear the uniform when I'm doing PR or making appearances, and I hate all of that. I'm more of a hands-on kind of guy."
"Yeah?" Dean’s hands are moving around to my back, and down to cup my ass. “I can see that.”
He leans in and kisses me, his lips brushing against mine."Mmm. Speaking of being hands-on, let me help you."
Now I’m confused, pulling back and blinking. "Help me?"
"Yeah, help. With the cooking."
"Oh, no, it's okay. I'm all set. You can go change and relax."
"Delia," he rumbles. "Stop trying to get out of letting me help."
"I wasn't..."
His next kiss is quick, followed by a squeeze of my ass before he pulls back and starts to undo his button-down uniform shirt, leaving him in only the police t-shirt from earlier. “Let’s try this again with no arguing. What's next on the agenda?"
"Hmm." I glance down at the recipe I've written down. "I guess we’ll prepare the stuffing next so I can just throw it in the oven tomorrow.”
His smile is genuine this time, and I’m shaken by how much it changes his entire face. God, he’s gorgeous. "Then let's do it."
I blink. "Seriously?"
"Yes. Now finish with your apples and let's go."
I can't help it. I laugh, and then Dean kisses me again, and I forget everything.
It turns out, Dean is a really great sous chef. He listens, follows instructions, and doesn't touch my ingredients without permission. It surprises me. Dean seems like the sort of man who’s in control of everything in his life. But it all starts to make sense when I realize he's helping not because he's trying to be helpful, but because he wants to be near me.
The thought makes me giddy, and the whole time we're cooking together, I'm fighting the urge to smile like a maniac.
"I didn't expect you to be so good in the kitchen," I comment as I stir the stuffing.
He looks over his shoulder at me where he’s dumping the apples into a large carafe. "Yeah? What did you expect?"
"Honestly, I don't know. I just thought you'd be a meat-and-potatoes kind of guy. I mean, no offense, but I get the feeling you’re sort of set in your ways.”
He grunts but doesn't respond. Dean still hasn't changed out of the bottom half of his uniform, but his short sleeves let me see the flexing of his corded forearms as he works.
With Dean, the prep—my least favorite part of cooking—is fun. Before I know it, we’re done. The sangria is chilling, and everything that could be done early is finished, ready to be popped into the oven tomorrow for Thanksgiving.
"Okay," I say, putting my hands on my hips. "Time to clean up. Then, I think a movie sounds perfect."
"Mmhmm." Dean moves behind me, his arms wrapping around my waist and his head dipping down to press a soft kiss to the exposed skin of my shoulder. "Do you have any requests?"
"I thought maybe you could choose." My eyes flutter shut at his attention.
"How thoughtful of you." He moves his lips over my skin, sucking softly, and I can't help but tilt my head, letting him have better access. When he speaks, I can feel his lips moving against my skin. "Actually, I want to take you out. You don't deserve to be cooped up in this house."
Now I’m paying attention again."What? Really?"
I turn around to face him, and he kisses me softly, pulling me in. "I want to take you on a date, Delia. A real date. No sneaking around. Let me take you out."
It sounds wonderful, but there’s still the shadow of something hanging over the idea. "Are you sure? Brody..."
He presses a finger against my lips to shush me. Okay…message received. No talk about his son. "I'm not talking about Brody. Let me take you on a real date. I know the perfect place. We can talk about...all of this. And maybe make plans for tomorrow."