Boyfriend for Hire

Thirteen

Elle“I’m just about finished with this,” Nic says,

stirring a large pot on the stove. “You can head out to the terrace and I’ll bring it out for you.”

“You’re such an amazing host.” I smile at him.

He looks so comfortable and domestic in his state-of-the-art kitchen. Tonight he’s dressed casu- ally in jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt that stretch- es across his broad shoulders and firm biceps in a way that makes my stomach dance with excite- ment.

So far, the night has gone beyond my expecta- tions. When Nic said he wanted to cook for me, I figured it would be something out of a box. But if the smells coming from the pot he’s stirring are any indication, he knows his way around the kitchen.

“This is just the beginning,” he says, winking at me.

I laugh and wander out of the kitchen and through the living room, making my way onto the terrace. I figured Nic would have a nice place, but I didn’t know it would be like this. He lives in a two-story penthouse in a high-rise downtown, with a view that goes on for miles.

Sipping my water, I take in the sparkling lights of the city. It’s a perfect fall evening. The sun hasn’t quite set yet, hanging just above the horizon and casting a golden glow over the skyscrapers.

The terrace itself is straight out of a romance novel. Nic has hung up string lights across the space, and has set a bistro table for two with flow- ers and a few candles. I grin to myself, thinking he’s probably the only guy in the world who would be thoughtful enough to set a table this way.

In fact, his whole apartment is anything but the bachelor pad I would have guessed it to be. Nic has taken the time to hang art on the walls and his furniture actually goes together, unlike most guys I know who just throw a random assortment of couches into a room. He even has a few house- plants. He’s either more of a homemaker than I thought, or he found a really good decorator. I’d

think the latter, but somehow I know this is all Nic’s doing.

My thoughts are interrupted by the terrace door sliding open. A few seconds later, Nic walks out holding two plates of pasta. He sets one down in front of me, and I breathe in the smell.

“It’s gnocchi with a wild boar ragout,” he says, settling into his seat.

“Wild boar?” I raise an eyebrow. “I didn’t even know you could get that around here.”

“I know a guy.” He smirks.

I grin before taking my first bite. My eyes wid- en as I chew.

“Mmm,” I say after swallowing, and look at Nic in shock. “You made this? It’s so good. Is this homemade gnocchi?”

“Of course.” He laughs. “You think a true Ital- ian like me would serve you that packaged stuff? You deserve better than that.”

I take another bite, trying to hold back a groan. It’s so good, it’s like an orgasm in my mouth. As I watch Nic take a bite, his strong jaw flexing as he chews, I can only hope it’s not the only orgasm I’ll be experiencing tonight.

“So, you figured I’m the kind of guy who or- ders takeout and tries to pass it off as his own cook- ing?” he asks, smirking.

“That’s what every other guy I’ve dated has done. So, yeah, pretty much.” I laugh. “How did you learn to make this?”

“I’ve always loved cooking,” he says after tak- ing a sip of his water. “My grandmother loved to cook and so does my mother, and I spent a lot of time in the kitchen with them when I was younger.”

“Are you really Italian?” I ask.

He nods. “My name is actually Nicco, but no one calls me that except for my mother.”

Once again, I’m blown away by Nic. Every- thing about this date is so romantic—the candle- light, the city views, and the amazing food. And not to mention Nic himself, who looks about as good as his pasta tastes.

His dark, messy hair is blowing gently in the breeze. His biceps flex as he runs a hand through his hair, and I bite my lip. I can tell he hits the gym more than the average guy, and I can’t stop my- self from imagining him putting those muscles to use in the bedroom. An image of him lifting me up against a wall during a hot make-out session flash-

es through my mind, and I feel my face heat up.

“Have you told Christine that we’ve been hang- ing out?” he asks, bringing me back to reality. He says it casually, but I sense something urgent in his tone.

“I haven’t had much of a chance to talk to her,” I say, then swallow. “Mostly just about the wed- ding and her honeymoon.”

I hate lying, but I’m definitely not going to tell him what she said about him. Or that she’s been practically begging me to stop seeing him.

“Makes sense.” He smiles and nods, seeming relieved.

I can’t shake the feeling that there’s something those two aren’t telling me, but I try to forget about it. I’m probably just paranoid because of every- thing Christine has said about him.

“So, what do you do in your free time? Besides cook gourmet meals and put together romantic din- ners.” I smile, wanting him to go along with chang- ing the subject. The less we talk about Christine, the better, in my opinion. I don’t need the reminder of her warnings about Nic ruining an otherwise perfect evening.

He laughs. “I love spending time outdoors, camping and hiking. I haven’t traveled much, but I want to. We could never afford it growing up, and now that I actually have money, I don’t have the time.”

“I would love to travel more. I wanted to study abroad in college, but I chickened out.”

“So, you’ve never been out of the country ei- ther?” he asks.

I shake my head. “If you could leave right now, where would you go?”

“I definitely would love to visit Italy. My fam- ily is from Florence, and I’ve always wanted to do a backpacking trip through Europe.” He laughs. “But I might be too old for that now.”

“No way, you’re never too old to travel,” I say, taking another bite of gnocchi. “That sounds per- fect to me.”

“Should we make another pact?” He gives me a playful smile. “That we’ll travel to Europe within the next year?”

I grin back. “Let’s do it.”

The thought of sipping wine in a vineyard in Italy or lying on a beach in the south of France with

Nic is way too tempting. The idea of Nic in a bath- ing suit alone is making me feel hot and bothered.

It’s so easy to picture a future with him, and I hope I’m not getting ahead of myself. I’m always so careful with my feelings, and suddenly with Nic, I’m throwing caution to the wind. I just hope our connection is as real as I think it is.

As we finish the last of our food, a cool fall

breeze blows by, making me shiver.

“Should we head inside? It gets a little breezy up here,” Nic says, standing to clear our plates.

I follow him back inside, where he gestures for me to sit on the couch as he takes our plates into the kitchen. When he comes back, he’s holding two plates of dessert.

I raise an eyebrow. “You can bake too? I think I might be in love with you.”

As soon as I say it, my face turns red. I may be totally smitten with him, but I don’t want to come on too strong, too fast.

Luckily, he just laughs, setting down the plates. “This is my real specialty,” he says, handing me a fork.

I’m so full, I definitely have a food baby, but

I can’t resist trying Nic’s dessert. Especially after how good the main course was.

“Oh my God,” I say loudly after my first taste.

“What is that?”

“Limoncello tiramisu.” He laughs as I dive in for another bite.

“You sure know the way to a girl’s heart—and to her hips.” I grin.

“I’m just happy I’m finally dating a girl who actually eats,” he says, then takes a bite himself. “There’s nothing worse than cooking for someone who doesn’t enjoy food.”

“Well, you’ll never have that problem with me,” I say with a snort. “I think I’m going to be- come obese if we keep hanging out.”

“You’d look beautiful no matter what,” he says, smiling at me.

I glance up at him quickly, my heartbeat speed- ing up. How does he always know the perfect thing to say?

He looks so good, and he’s sitting so close to me on the couch that I’m having a hard time resist- ing reaching over and pulling him on top of me. I watch him carry our empty dessert plates back

into the kitchen, admiring the muscles in his broad shoulders.

He walks back and sits even closer to me on the couch, bringing me a fresh glass of sparkling water.

I hope this is the moment we can finally finish what we started a week ago. And if he’s even half as good in the bedroom as he is in the kitchen, I’m pretty sure I’m in for a wild night.

“I feel like you’re too good to be true,” I say, sipping my drink.

“Trust me, I’m far from perfect.” He smiles, looking down. “It’s me who’s lucky to be with you.”

“Well, if you’re expecting elaborate homemade dinners from me, you might be disappointed. I love to cook, but I’ve never made anything like that be- fore.”

“I don’t know,” he says. “If I’ve learned any- thing about you, it’s that you’re way too humble, and you always bring the unexpected.”

“It’s funny, that’s exactly how I feel about you,” I say quietly, looking into his warm brown eyes.

He leans forward on the couch, and I scoot in

closer to him so our legs are touching. Before I know it, our breaths are mingling and his hand is resting against the back of my neck.

“Gonna kiss you now,” he murmurs, his lips al- most touching mine.

I make a wordless sound of agreement, and then his mouth meets mine in an urgent kiss. We’ve been building toward this moment all night. All the laughing and smiles and shared glances have turned into something much hotter and needier than either of us are sure what to do with—other than finish what we started.

His tongue slides into my mouth as our kiss grows fiercer. It’s packed with heat and emotion, and dear God, this man can kiss.

I sit up and swing my leg over his so I’m strad- dling him, sliding my hands across his hard chest. My body feels electrified as he runs his hands down my back, pulling me against him roughly. I arch my back and let out a low moan as he kisses my neck, and I feel my nipples harden inside the cups of my lacy bra. I can’t remember ever wanting anyone this badly.

As his lips find mine again, I rock my hips against him, finding that he’s hard and . . . holy

shit, he’s hung like a freaking horse.

“Nic . . .” I groan, pressing my hips forward. “Yeah, sweetheart?” His voice is rough and

growly, and oh my God, why is that so hot?

I don’t even know why I said his name, don’t know what it is I’m asking for. “You’re so hard,” I murmur.

He makes a groan of frustrated need, and my pulse riots in my throat. “I want you,” he admits, pressing one more quick kiss to my lips. “So fuck- ing badly. But what I want and what I’ll let myself have are two very different things.”

My lust-soaked brain struggles to understand his meaning. But Nic continues, touching my cheek gently with his thumb.

“I’ve made too many mistakes. I need to do this the right way.”

I press my lips to his. He’s sweet. I think he’s saying he wants to go slow, but as far as I’m con- cerned, this is the fourth time I’ve been out with him. I’m ready to toss all my rules out the window.

I slip my hands beneath his shirt, running my fingers along his abs, but he pulls back. He stares deep into my eyes, and there’s that same conflicted

look he had last Saturday night.

Nic swallows and takes a deep breath, then lifts me off his lap. He brushes a strand of hair out of my face and kisses me again, more sweetly this time, before pulling back again. Whatever inner conflict he’s fighting has won—for now, it seems.

“Thanks for coming tonight,” he says, standing and running his hands through his hair. “I had a great time. Can I walk you down to your car?”

I’m totally floored by the turn of events. I was sure we were headed for the bedroom, and I al- ready have major lady blue balls. I try not to let him see my disappointment as I stand and pick up my purse, then follow him to the door.

“This was really amazing,” I say as we step into the elevator. We’re alone, and he lives on the nineteenth floor.

By the time we reach floor thirteen, I can’t re- sist. I turn to Nic and grab his shirt in a fist, pull- ing him to me. He wraps his arms around me as he slides his tongue into my mouth. We step back so I’m leaning against the wall of the elevator, and his hands run down my chest, gently brushing along my breasts.

I moan as his fingers graze my nipples, and am

about ready to start pulling off clothes when the elevator dings. I have just enough time to regain my composure before the doors open to the lobby. There are a few people standing around, and as we walk past the doorman, he smiles at us, and I won- der if he can tell what we’ve been up to.

Once we reach my car, I turn to Nic, search- ing his eyes for signs. I don’t know why he keeps ending things before they go too far. I’m not sure what’s going on with us, because I’ve basically been throwing myself at him since we met.

Does he only want to be friends? But who kiss- es their friends like that? Maybe he’s just a gentle- man, and he actually wants to get to know me be- fore we sleep together.

“Thanks for everything,” I say as we reach my car. “You sure know how to sweep a girl off her feet.”

“Oh, you haven’t seen anything yet.” He smirks at me, his gaze playful.

I have to bite my tongue before I ask him when

I’ll get to see it.

He gives me another quick kiss good-bye, sending a shot of heat between my legs before he pulls away. I’ve never gotten so many mixed sig-

nals from a guy before, but maybe it’s because I’ve only dated assholes who were trying to get me into bed as quickly as possible.

Despite my confusion, I know one thing for sure. I’m falling hard for Nic, and nothing—not even Christine’s disapproval—can bring me down from this high.