Make Me Wilder by Serena Bell

Author:Serena Bell [Bell, Serena]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781953498083
Publisher: Serena Bell Books

21

Lucy

Oh, God, the competence porn! Is there anything this man can’t do? He’s cooking with both hands, flipping the fish, then testing the pasta, stirring the spinach. Everything smells amazing, like butter and lemon and garlic. My stomach growls.

Plus the dog adores him. Buck is lying at Gabe’s feet, gazing up at him like Gabe… well, like Gabe wields the can opener. But also probably the frisbee and the ball launcher and the treat jar and the soft fleecy bed. Gabe squats for a moment and gives Buck’s head an affectionate ruffle.

Honestly, I kind of get it. After today, I want to sit at his feet and stare up at him adoringly, too. Especially if he’d stroke my hair.

Instead, I ask if he needs any help. He says, “No. But I want to show you something.”

“I want you to show me something, too,” I say.

Whoops! I meant to think them, but the words fell out of my mouth, husky and suggestive.

I’m rewarded by a full-on Gabriel Wilder smile, which is rare and beautiful. He has a dimple in one cheek and laugh lines at the corners of his dark eyes. “Don’t tempt me.”

That’s it, though. He doesn’t look at me the way he did at the door, or take me up on my not-at-all-subtle come-on.

At the door, he’d stared at me like he wanted to get me out of his robe as fast as possible. My whole body got hot and melty. I was going to let him kiss me, and I was going to enjoy every minute of it, and I wasn’t going to stop with kissing. I would worry about the consequences later. Life is short.

And then Buck got in the way.

“Look,” he says. “You see how it’s translucent here, but not here?”

I’m leaning in close to see the fish, and yeah, I see it.

“That’s how you know it’s done, when it’s no longer translucent. People overcook fish in the worst way. You have to have a visual. You can’t do it with a thermometer. By the time you get the guideline temp, it’s way too late.”

He takes the fish off the heat, drains the pasta, heaps the spaghetti onto two plates, and arranges the spinach and fish on top. It’s even pretty to look at.

Meanwhile, I’m trying not to feel rejected because I basically told him I wanted to have sex with him and he showed me how to cook trout perfectly.

He sets two places across from each other at his kitchen table. Nothing super fancy, just plates and cloth napkins and silverware. But then he gets up again, goes and gets two wine glasses and a bottle, and comes back. “You okay with white?” he asks. “Red’s too heavy for trout.”

“Who are you?” I demand.

He laughs at that. “Just a guy who loves good fish, cooked right, and served with the right drink. Believe me, it’s not like I know wine pairings for everything. Okay, reds with steak. And beer with everything else. Especially Chinese and Indian.

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