Chapter 119: A Culinary Seduction

Lisa's POV

"You're being tight-lipped about things," I say, leaning on the doorframe to the kitchen with my arms folded as I watch Leo busying himself with purposeful resolve.

He looks back with that irritating smile tugging on his lips. "It's called a surprise, Lisa. Work with me here."

Continue reading with a free account Sign up for a free account Already have an account? "I don't like being locked out of my own kitchen."

"Our kitchen," he says, correcting me smoothly. "And you are not banned.”

I laugh despite myself. "How long is it for?"

"One more hour." He pivots now, leaving whatever he had been doing on the counter to approach us. His hands are at my waist, drawing me in.  “Take a bath. Throw on something that makes you feel beautiful. Let me do this for you."

The honesty of his voice when he speaks, the way his eyes are soft and warm and just a little bit jittery makes me melt. "Okay," I relent. "This had better be good."

"It will be all right," he assures me as he kisses my forehead. "Now go. Shoo." "

I go back upstairs, glancing back at him as I leave. He's already turned back to his preparations, and I see him glance at something on his phone — a recipe, maybe? — then he fetches some more ingredients.

The curiosity is killing me.

But I obey his orders, drawing a bath and adding the lavender oil that makes everything smell like I’m at a spa. I slip beneath the hot water, letting it melt away the tensions of the day — though excitement is buzzing beneath my skin. What is he scheming?

When I finally do come out, my skin is pink from the heat and soft from the oils, and I’m standing in front of my closet mulling over my choices.

“Something that makes me feel pretty,” he said.

My fingers dance across hangars until they find a dress I haven’t worn in months— rich emerald green, silk that clings and cascades in all the proper places, with a neckline that’s just a tad too suggestive without being too much.

Perfect.

I slip it on, watching in the mirror as it clings to my curves. I wear my hair down in loose waves, put on just a touch of makeup to enhance but not mask my features, and slip on some simple heels that add just a bit of height to help me feel elegant.

When I go down the stairs, led by the soft candlelight and the warm smell of food, I see the dining room has changed.

Candles on the table, candles on the sideboard, strewn all over the place, turning everything into warm, flickering gold. The table is beautifully laid with our best crockery, wine glasses that refract the light and a centerpiece of fresh flowers that I don’t recall us ever having.

And Leo.

He’s changed too—dark slacks, white button-down, sleeves pushed up to his elbows. His hair is a bit wet, as if he has just showered, and when he turns and looks at me, his face changes into something that makes me catch my breath.

"Lisa," he breathes, and I think I have never seen anyone’s eyes move so slowly as he does from going up and down on my body and then up again after he says my name. "You’re stunning."

Heat floods my cheeks. "And you clean up pretty well yourself."

He approaches me, takes my hand, and raises it to his lips. “Thank you for indulging me.”

“Thank you for whatever this is,” I say, waving toward the place where we’ve been turned around. “It’s beautiful.”

“You’re beautiful.” He leads me over to the table, pulls out my chair with that old-fashioned sense of courtesy. "Sit. Let me feed you."

I settle into the chair and watch him glide into the kitchen, back after a heartbeat with a bottle of wine, two appetizer plates. He pours the wine first — something red and rich that I know is expensive — and then places a plate in front of me.

“Bruschetta,” he says. “Tomatoes, basil, garlic, balsamic. Simple but classic. ”

I take a bite and the flavours exploded all over my tongue, it tasted really bright, fresh and perfect. “Leo, this is amazing.”

He beams, clearly pleased. “Wait ’til you taste the entrée.”

We eat slowly, savoring each bite, but more than the food, I'm savoring him. How candlelight dances on his face and jawline, the shape our lips take when they press together. The way he observes me with a fervor that makes each bite feel personal, as if even eating is somehow sexual when he's gazing at me like that.

“Tell me something I don’t already know about you,” he says suddenly, his foot sliding under the table until it meets mine, circling around my ankle.

I take a sip of wine, thinking. “I wanted to be a dancer when I was younger.”

His eyebrows rise. “Really?”

“Mmhmm. Ballet— specifically. I took lessons for years as a kid." I smile at the thought. “I wasn’t very good, but I loved it. The discipline, the grace, how the movement could tell a story.”

“Why did you quit?”

“Life got in the way. College, career, reality.” I shrug. “But there are times when I yearn for it. That feeling of being completely present in your body, you know?”

His eyes darken, his foot sliding up. "I think I’m getting an idea of what that feels like now."

Heat pools low in my belly. “You are?”

“Mmhmm.” He takes a slow sip of wine, his gaze still locked with mine. “Being there in your body. Conscious of everything that’s happening. Everything that touches you.”

The space between us electrifies, crackling with anticipation.

He rises, gathering our empty plates. “Ready for the main course?”

“More than ready,” I answer, though we both know I’m not just talking about food anymore.

He returns with two plates—perfect salmon, cooked to perfection, with roasted vegetables and what appears to be a lemon butter sauce. It's restaurant quality and I tell him that.

“I may have done this a couple of times,” he confesses, sliding back into his seat. His hand reaches for mine across the table, thumb moving across my knuckles. “Wanted it to be perfect for you.”

“This is perfect,” I tell him. "All of it."

We eat, but the conversation becomes more charged, more tantalizing. Every look seems weighted, every flirtatious contact calculated in advance. His hand on mine. My foot on his leg under the table. The way his eyes fall to my lips when I take a bite, as if he's thinking about something else entirely.

“Lisa,” he says finally, harsher than before. “You’re making it difficult to eat and focus on dinner.”

“Am I?” I ask innocently as I let my foot slide up his inner thigh. “I’m just here eating this delicious meal that you cooked.”

His jaw clenches tight. "You're playing with fire. "

“Maybe that’s the point. I want to get burned.”

The fork in his hand clatters against his plate. Then he rises from his seat, pulls me up from mine as he makes a round of the table with three long strides.

“Dessert can wait,” he growls in my ear, and before I know it, he’s kissing me.

They are ravenous and desperate kisses, all the pent-up energy exploding out at once. His hands are in my hair, on my hips, drawing me tight against him. I can sense every hard edge of his body, I can tell exactly how affected he is and it makes me shiver with excitement.

“Leo,” I pant between kisses. “The food—”

“Who gives a damn,” he mutters, pushing me back until my back meets the wall. “I’ve been dying to do this since you came down the stairs in that dress.”

His lips are on my neck, teeth nipping at sensitive skin, and I arch into him, my hands gripping his shoulders. “God, Leo...”

“Say you want this,” he insists, pulling back just enough to see me, his eyes dark and wild. “Say you want me as much as I want you.”

“Yes,” I breathe. “Yes, I want you, I need you.”

That’s all he needed to hear. He scoops me up, and my legs instinctively wind around his waist as he carries me toward the stairs. Not long after he’s putting me down, turning me so I’m facing the wall, his arms wrapping around me from behind.

“This dress,” he whispers as his hands trail up my sides. “Been driving me crazy all night.”

“Then take it off,” I dare, glancing at him over my shoulder.

His eyes flash. “Bedroom,Hungry now."

Hand in hand, we ascend the stairs together, barely managing not to touch each other, halting every few steps to kiss, to touch, to press against each other frantically. By the time we make it to the bedroom, both of us are panting and flushed with desire.

The bang of Leo kicking the door shut behind us reverberates in the abrupt silence. For a second we just stand there, gazing at one another in the low light coming through the drapes.

“Come here,” he says in a soft voice and I go to him, I can’t say no.

As he kisses me—slower now, more encompassing, Relishing every sweet moment—his hands hold my face. "You’re everything,"he whispers against my lips. “Everything I’ve ever wanted.”

"“I love you,” I murmur against his lips.

"I love you too," he says, as he lines up with me. "So damn much."

We both fall forward, our heartbeats racing, drained to the core, yet completely satisfied; I’m sure we could never be so lucky again, even if we both hope we are. Pulling me close and planting kisses on my scalp, my temple, wherever he can get to.

“Best dinner date ever,” I whisper into his chest.

He laughs, the sound reverberating inside of him. “We didn’t even get to dessert.”

“You are dessert,” I say as I press a kiss over his heart. “ Sweet and perfect and all the best I need.”

His arms tighten around me. "I love you, Lisa.”

“I love you too, Leo. Always.”

And enfolded in his heat, still radiant from making love, I float off to sleep thinking that this—this bond, this love, this haven we’ve constructed together—is all there is.