“You…really watch me?”
“Yup,” he says without hesitation, stirring the meat. “All the time.”
My bottom lip retreats between my teeth. “What, like, from the shadows?”
“Bingo.”
I simmer.
“Stalker,” I tease.
Then I’m gasping as Kratos whirls. His hand grabs my hip, yanking me to his huge body as his gaze locks on mine.
“Now now, babygirl,” he murmurs quietly. “Let’s not pretend that the idea of me stalking you doesn’t make you wet.”
Fuck.
Heat throbs in my core. My skin is on fire as his fingers dig into the flesh of my hip. The heat of the kitchen melts over me as the tango music purrs sensually in my ears. Kratos’ hips begin to sway. He drops the tongs onto the counter by the stove, putting both hands on my hips before one slides possessively to the small of my back.
Then we start to dance.
It’s slow and teasing. Sensual and fierce. His eyes lock with mine, his strong hands gripping and twirling my body effortlessly as we dance around the kitchen. I gasp when he backs me up hard against the fridge, leaning down close, ready to either kiss me or devour me. But before he even makes contact, he’s pulling away and dancing us slowly around the kitchen again.
“You know how to tango?” I smile incredulously.
He smirks. “Apparently so.”
“How?”
He shrugs dismissively. “I took lessons with Ya-ya a while back.”
“You…learned to tango with your grandmother?”
“It was a birthday present, and she was really stoked about it,” he grunts with a wry smile. “Chill.”
I giggle, then gasp as he spins me and pulls me into his arms.
“They really do think of you as such a good boy, don’t they?”
His lips curl. “Indeed. Got ’em all fooled.”
“You don’t fool me,” I breathe.
“Good. Now, please, let’s not talk about my grandmother anymore.”
I shiver as he spins us around, dipping me low and then bringing me back up again. His arm muscles ripple and bulge at the arms of his t-shirt, his veined forearms cording as he turns us once more.
Our bodies are pressed hotly together, facing each other, my nipples dragging electrically against his chest through his shirt and my dress. My thighs feel slick, and my pulse roars as we dance body-to-body to the sensual tango music.
Kratos’ hands tighten around me even more. Our faces move closer together.
The fucking kitchen timer goes off.
I bite back a groan of sexual frustration as he pulls away with a smirk. “Dinner’s ready.”
The back yard isn’t finished or fully landscaped yet. But it’s gorgeous outside, and I seriously couldn’t care less that all the bluestone pavers aren’t down, or that not all the plants are in.
There’s a small café table outside and two chairs. Add in food, wine, and him?
That’s all I need.
Also, it turns out Kratos isn’t just good at making cooking look sexy: he’s also an insanely talented chef. We eat course after course of regional Spanish cuisine, from gambas al ajillo, boquerones, and albondigas to a a truly delicious steak and seafood paella, all paired with appropriate wines.
It might be the best date of my entire life.
It’s dark out by the time we’re done with dinner. And I’m laughing, full, and well past “buzzed” and into “drunk”. Which is obviously, I decide, the perfect time to segue into tequila.
Straight from the bottle.
Kratos arches a quizzical brow at me as I come sauntering back out of the house into the yard carrying a bottle of añejo.
“Gonna be that kind of night, huh?”
“Uh-huh,” I grin.
“Well, in that case…” He turns and cranks the volume on the outside speaker. Sultry tango music filters in to the back yard and I pull the cap off, my eyes fixed on Kratos’ amused ones as I take a sip straight from the bottle.
