Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 93387 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93387 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
All the rooms were simply decorated, and I was once again struck by the lack of personal items. No photos, few knickknacks. He had some modern paintings that went with the style of the rooms, a massive TV on one wall over the gas fireplace, but little else that showcased the man who lived there. It was neat, tastefully furnished—and blank.
He watched me as he showed me around, then followed me to the kitchen, draping his suit jacket over one of the high barstools at the island that separated the two rooms.
“Wine?” he murmured, reaching into the cabinet for glasses.
“That would be lovely.”
I opened cupboards, looking for what I needed, then grabbed a chopping board and got to work. Bane leaned his elbows on the counter, observing me.
“You like to cook.”
“Yes, I find it relaxing.”
“I’m not a good cook. I work the microwave well, and I’m great with DoorDash,” he admitted.
“Never used it. If I’m not in the mood for cooking, I’ll grab something on the way home. There are all sorts of little places by the bus stop. Chinese, Greek, Italian, and a great ramen place I like,” I replied, sliding the veggies I had chopped into a bowl. “But I prefer homemade.”
“Lucky me,” he drawled.
I stopped what I was doing, meeting his eyes. He was being sincere, and his gaze was warm. Interested.
“I like seeing you in my kitchen, Maggie.” He paused. “Darling.”
I felt a tremor go through me.
I dropped my gaze, reaching for the chicken, slicing it quickly and adding it to a bowl with some olive oil and garlic. On the fancy cooktop, I heated the water and got the pan ready to make the sauce in. I slid the bread into the oven to warm. He sat at the island, scrolling through his phone, directing me when I needed something. He helped make the salad, proving his ineptness with a knife, but at least he tried.
Soon, we were sitting down, bowls of my own version of pasta primavera with chicken steaming in front of us. We ate at the island, Bane laughing as I tried to figure out how to climb up on the barstool, clearly made for someone much taller than I was. He gripped my waist, lifting me, then dropped a kiss to my mouth.
“Dinner smells incredible,” he praised, filling my glass with more of the delicious, crisp white wine he had chosen.
“I like it. It’s not traditional, but it’s tasty. I sort of made it up with the things I like.”
He took a bite, closing his eyes. “I like it too.”
He leaned over and kissed me. “And you,” he said quietly. “I like you.”
His words made me smile.
I squealed in delight after dinner when he showed me his coffee machine. “This is awesome,” I enthused. “Please tell me you have what I need to use it.”
“I hope so.”
I prepared the coffees as he loaded the dishwasher, assuring me that was one task he could handle. “How did you learn how to make foamy coffees like that?” he asked, watching me create a little flower on top.
“I worked as a barista during the summer for three years. Once you figure it out, you remember. My old boss loved my coffee creations. He used to have me serve them at every meeting. Said it gave him an edge over competitors.”
“Joanne and Randy certainly liked them. And your muffins.”
“She was very nice. She emailed me, asking if she could buy the muffin recipe.”
He crossed his arms. “That could be a good source of income for you if you structure the deal right.”
“I was just going to give it to her.”
“Nope. She wants it, you sell it. And you get a cut on every muffin they sell.”
I blinked.
“I’ll help you.”
“Okay. Won’t that upset her?”
He laughed. “Joanne is a businesswoman. Very wealthy. She didn’t get there by giving her recipes away. She’ll happily pay, and she’ll understand. You have a product she wants for her resorts, and you need to think of your future.”
“All right. What else should I be thinking about?” I asked.
He sat down beside me on the sofa, running his hand up and down my leg. “You mean about us?”
“Yes, Bane. About us.”
“Alex,” he corrected.
“We’re not—”
He interrupted me. “You’re in my home, having cooked me dinner. I’m beside you, touching you. None of these things has ever happened in this condo. To me, that is pretty damn intimate.”
“You’ve never had another woman here?”
“Aside from my mother getting past the doorman and breezing in a couple of times? No.”
“Oh. How long have you lived here?”
He threw back his head in laughter. “A few years. Lawson designed the building with BAM—they’re a huge deal in the real estate business here. I worked on the landscaping, and I loved the building. I bought this unit before it was even built. Prior to that, I lived in a high-rise very close to the office. I used to walk to work daily. And before you can ask, I never had a woman there either.”