Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 75373 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75373 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Since I mostly slept alone, I just wore a comfy tee and panties. But I had a bit of a shopping problem when it came to pretty nightgowns and matching robes.
I was glad to put one to use.
I picked out a baby pink nightgown with white lace trim that fell about mid-thigh. I slid that on—without any of the undergarments Santo didn’t want—and put the matching robe on top, but chose to leave it uncinched, so he could see the nightie beneath.
I took myself to the bathroom, fixing my hair, but decided to leave the makeup on for the time being. I knew Santo had seen what was beneath, but I wanted to look my best for him. At least until bed.
With that, I made my way back downstairs to already smell garlic and onion filling the house.
“Mmm, what are you making?” I asked as I moved into the kitchen to find him at the island, his shirtsleeves rolled up, cutting up greens on a fancy wooden cutting board.
“Right now? Sauce,” he said, focusing on his knife skills. Which shouldn’t have been as sexy as they were. But, damn, the man knew what he was doing. And the motions totally made the muscles in his forearms tense in all sorts of appealing ways.
Finished chopping the greens, his gaze lifted.
With that, he was straightening, knife still in his hand, his greedy gaze sliding over me.
“Tell me you wear that all the time at home.”
“I can if you want,” I said, belly cartwheeling at the need in his eyes and voice.
“I want.”
“Good. Because I have bought an ungodly number of these,” I said, waving down at myself. “But I’ve never had a reason to wear them.”
“You got a reason now. Lots of reasons, if you want me to list them,” he said, lips twitching.
“So, you make sauce from scratch?”
“Pretty sure my ma would disown me if I used a jar. A basic marinara is easy,” he explained. “Just need tomatoes, garlic, parsley, basil, olive oil, and salt.”
“And yet I bet it will be the best sauce I’ve ever had.” I looked at his gathered ingredients. “Can I do anything?”
“Hang with me and look pretty. Shouldn’t be too hard,” he said with another warm gaze.
God, this man almost seemed too good to be true.
He was gorgeous, protective, successful, skilled with cooking, and absolutely adored the body I had worked so hard to learn to love myself.
Eventually, I linked my phone to his wireless speaker, letting music fill the room as I poured us some more wine, then sipped and sang and swayed my hips as I watched Santo take charge of the kitchen.
It was practically porn, to be honest, to see him moving around. Chopping this, mixing that, sticking his finger into the sauce, and then dipping it into his mouth.
“I’m gonna say Fuck it and let all this burn if you keep looking at me like that,” he said. He shot me a raised brow look.
“It’s not my fault that you look so hot when you’re cooking. Out of curiosity, would you be against doing all this,” I said, waving at him, “wearing nothing but your boxer briefs and an apron?”
I got a chuckle in response to that before he turned and walked over to me, stealing a quick kiss. “If you’d be willing to scrub the floor in one of your sundresses for me, I’ll cook just about naked for you.”
“It’s a deal,” I agreed, offering him my hand, making his smile spread wide enough to make his eyes crinkle. “Now get over there and finish my dinner,” I demanded.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Santo
I honestly lost the plot for a solid three days.
What can I say?
I had Dasha in my house, in my bed, wearing those sexy little nighties or sundresses—or nothing at all.
Who could blame me for getting a bit distracted?
Besides, Friday had rolled into the weekend. Everything else could wait until the workweek began again.
It wasn’t like me to lose my focus when I had a job going on. And, arguably, this one was more important than any before. Not just because Dasha was at risk, but because the Family was sitting on millions of cocaine of unknown origins or debts.
I did manage to get one of the guys to install that hidden camera. But Dasha had decided to stay home from work that day, giving us a long weekend of nothing to do but enjoy each other.
We spent a lot of that time in bed. Or the shower. And once in the living room. And, fine, the laundry room too.
But I also cooked. And she cooked.
We looked online for more furniture for the house.
We talked about our pasts and our hopes for the future.
And I was more than happy to find how many of our future goals aligned.
Because even though it was still new, I had this feeling in my gut that this was the woman for me, that she was the one I’d bought the house for, that I’d been setting down foundations for.