Chapter 59
Olivia
He led me to the master bedroom at the end of the hall, a sprawling space dominated by a massive bed with ocean views. The sheets were crisp white, and the duvet was a deep navy that matched the accent wall behind the headboard.
“This is where I sleep,” he said simply.
“It’s beautiful,” I said, drawn to the wall of windows overlooking the cliff and ocean below. “Do you ever worry about privacy with all this glass?”
“The nearest neighbor is half a mile away, and the glass is treated. We can see out, but no one can see in.”
“We?” I raised an eyebrow.
Alexander’s lips quirked. “Figure of speech.”
He moved to sliding glass doors that opened onto a private deck extending from the bedroom. Outside, a hot tub bubbled quietly, steam rising into the cool night air.
“For stargazing,” he explained. “Light pollution is minimal here.”
I stepped onto the deck, the wooden boards warm beneath my feet. The vastness of the ocean stretched before us, moonlight creating a silver path across the water.
“It’s incredible.” I breathed.
“Worth every penny,” Alexander agreed, standing close enough that I could feel his body heat. “There’s one more place I want to show you.”
He led me back through the house to another deck on the opposite side. This one featured an infinity pool that seemed to merge with the horizon, glowing blue in the darkness.
“The pool’s heated year–round,” he said. “Nothing like swimming under the stars.”
“You’ve thought of everything,” I said, genuinely impressed.
“I like comfort,” he replied simply. “And privacy.”
“Hence the escape house in the middle of nowhere.”
“Exactly” His eyes met mine, something unreadable in their depths. “Hungry?”
“Starving, I admitted,
“Good. Let’s cook”
Back in the kitchen, Alexander opened the refrigerator and began pulling out ingredients: fresh pasta, cherry tomatoes, basil, garlic, olive oil, and a wedge of parmesan.
“I thought we’d keep it simple tonight,” he said, setting everything on the marble countertop. “Pasta Pomodoro. Do you
cook?”
“I can follow a recipe,” I said, watching him move confidently around the kitchen. “But I’m no chef.”
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“Perfect. You can be my sous chef.” He handed me a knife and cutting board. “Halve the tomatoes while I get the water started.”
I began slicing the tiny tomatoes while Alexander filled a pot with water and set it on the stove. He moved with surprising grace, each motion efficient and precise.
“So, where did you learn to cook?” I asked, curious about his domestic side.
Alexander added garlic to the sizzling oil, filling the kitchen with a heavenly aroma. “A friend of mine is a chef. Taught me the basics years ago. Said no man should rely entirely on takeout.”
I watched his confident movements and the way his hands worked with practiced ease. “Must be a good friend.”
“One of the best,” he replied, not elaborating further.
I wondered if this friend was a woman, perhaps an ex–girlfriend or lover who’d taken the time to teach him these skills. The thought sent me an unexpected pang of jealousy, which I quickly dismissed. What did I care about Alexander’s past?
“Here, stir this while I grate the cheese,” he said, handing me a wooden spoon.
I took over, stirring the tomatoes as they broke down in the pan, releasing their sweet–tart aroma. Alexander moved behind me to reach for the parmesan, his chest brushing against my back. The casual contact sent a jolt of awareness through me.
“Sorry,” he murmured, though he didn’t sound sorry at all.
“It’s fine.” I replied, keeping my eyes on the pan.
He stayed close, grating cheese onto a small plate beside me. I could feel his body heat and smell his cologne mixed with the garlic and tomatoes. The kitchen suddenly felt much smaller.
“How’s it looking?” he asked, leaning over my shoulder to inspect the sauce.
“Good, I think? They’re starting to break down.”
“Perfect” His breath tickled my ear, making goosebumps rise on my arms.
He reached around me to add a pinch of salt, his arm brushing against mine. The pasta water began to boil over, and I moved quickly to turn down the heat, backing up directly into his solid frame.
“Shit, sorry, I muttered, feeling my face flush.
“No harm done, Alexander replied, his hands steadying me by the waist. They lingered there a moment longer than necessary before he stepped away to drain the pasta.
I took a deep breath, trying to ignore the tingling sensation where his hands had been. This was ridiculous. We were just cooking dinner, not engaging in foreplay.
“Can you get the wine? Alexander asked, nodding toward two glasses he’d set out earlier.
I grabbed the bottle of red he’d opened to breathe and poured generously into both glasses. Taking a large sip from mine, I welcomed the warmth that spread through my chest.
“Easy there,” Alexander said with a smirk. “We haven’t even eaten yet.”
“Just thirsty,” I replied, setting the glass down.
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He combined the pasta with the sauce, tossing everything together with practiced movements. “It’s almost done. We just need to add the finishing touches.”
I leaned against the counter, watching him work. There was something undeniably sexy about a man who knew his way around a kitchen. Especially one who looked like Alexander, with his muscular forearms on display as he confidently
handled the food.
“Can you grab those plates?” he asked, nodding toward the cabinet.
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I reached up for the plates, stretching on tiptoes. As I did, I felt Alexander move behind me, his body pressing against mine as he reached over me to grab them himself.
“Let me help,” he said, his voice low near my ear.
For a moment, we were completely aligned, his chest against my back, his hips against my ass. I could feel every hard plane of his body, including something substantial pressing against my lower back. My breath caught in my throat.
“Got them,” he said, sounding completely unaffected as he stepped away with the plates.
I stayed frozen for a second, trying to process what had just happened. Had he done that on purpose? The press of his body against mine had felt deliberate, but he was acting so casual now, serving the pasta as if nothing had happened.