Jonathan ran the final sheet of homemade dough through the spaghetti attachment and let the long, thin cylindrical noodles pool on the countertop. He dusted his flour-specked hands on the dish towel tucked into the waist of his jeans, then lifted the lid off the pot on the stove. The water had reached a rapid boil. He added a liberal amount of salt and dropped the homemade pasta inside.
Nerves fluttered in his stomach. His conversation with Adam this afternoon had given him the clarity he needed. Tonight, he was going to tell Leighton everything: that he wasn’t her fiancé and that it was his fault she’d been in the accident. She’d be angry, probably furious, but with his explanation, he hoped she’d understand why he’d agreed to Thomas’s plan in the first place. And he wasn’t above using everything in his arsenal to earn her forgiveness, including a home cooked meal.
He finished chopping the pancetta and tossed the small cubes in the pan. The pork hit the hot olive oil and hissed, its aroma blending with the garlic and scenting the air.
“Hey, you. When did you get home?”
He looked up as Leighton descended the last few steps and strolled down the hallway.
“Hay is for horses.”
Jonathan smiled, recalling Adam’s words. “A little while ago. I checked in on you, but you were asleep. I didn’t want to disturb you.”
She came up behind him and slid her arms around his waist. “I went to the hospital today.”
“I know. You had your first follow-up appointment with Dr. Faber. How did it go?”
“It went well, but that was this morning. I ended up going back later this afternoon, because I had a memory flash.”
He froze in the middle of tossing the pancetta. Oh, fuck! Her memories came back and now she knew he’d lied to her. He choked on his panic, struggling to get his words out, anxious for the chance to tell her himself, in the hopes it would mitigate some of the damage.
“Leighton—” Her name was a strangled, indecipherable utterance.
She cut him off. “I know I should’ve called you, but you didn’t need another thing to take you away from the restaurant.”
He cleared his throat. And through the waves of dread he noted that she seemed rather calm. “You can always call me.” He swallowed. “Do you have your memory back?”
“Not all of it. Just a few pieces and only about my job. But between dealing with the memory, the doctors and a new round of tests, I was exhausted. I came home and crashed.”
Relief whisked all his tension away, leaving him boneless. He hadn’t lost her. Thank God. Two weeks ago, a life without her hadn’t been an issue. Now it was inconceivable.
He turned and enfolded her warm, slumber tousled body in a hug. “How are you feeling?”
“Good. I didn’t expect to sleep so long.”
“Your body needed the rest.”
“Probably. But now my stomach needs the food.” She reached around him and stole a cube of pancetta from the pan, popping it in her mouth. “Yummy.”
“Just wait until you try it in the actual cooked dish.”
She laughed. “Does it matter? It’s bacon. It’s delicious in all its forms.”
“Not bacon. Pancetta,” he corrected. “But your point stands.”
“What’s the occasion? You spend hours cooking at Sedici. I’d imagine the last thing you’d want to do is come home and prepare your own food.”
“That’s usually true. But tonight we’re celebrating.”
“What are we celebrating?”
He scanned her smiling, upturned face and noted the air of tranquility surrounding her. She seemed happy. And at peace. Probably for the first time since he’d known her. She wore one of his blue V-neck tees, which looked a million times better on her than it ever did on him, and her long legs were encased in black leggings. In her bare feet, with her long hair pulled into a loose knot on the top of her head, she looked charmingly casual and kissable.
So he kissed her.
His lips settled over hers and her gasp of surprise allowed him full access to her mouth. His heart threatened to burst from his chest as he explored her thoroughly, memorizing her taste and texture, achingly aware this may be the last time he kissed her. The thought snatched his breath, like a punch to his solar plexus. He wouldn’t let that happen. There was no way he’d ever want anyone more than he craved Leighton.
It would be like serving a man a perfectly cooked Kobe filet mignon and when he was done feasting, informing him he’d have to eat rump roast for the rest of his life.
Fuck that.
No matter what happened with his brother, he couldn’t lose her. He allowed himself the pleasure of her kiss for another second before he pulled away. Her lashes fluttered open and her eyes were soft, slightly unfocused.
Good to know he wasn’t the only one affected by their kisses.
He smiled. “We’re celebrating you.”
Her gaze sharpened. “You didn’t know what happened to me today, so why did you think I needed a celebration?”
“Look at what you’ve gone through in the past couple of weeks. Most people would’ve curled up in a corner somewhere, retreated from the world. Not you. It takes a tremendous amount of strength to keep going, in spite of the hurdles tossed in your path.”
“I may have curled up in the corner, if I was alone. But I had you. We should celebrate you, too. Not many men would choose to stand by me as I go through this.”
Aware of the information he withheld from her, her praise made him uncomfortable. “Anyone—”
She touched his arm and shook her head. “No, they wouldn’t.”
A combination of emotions swam through her gaze, but it was the unwavering trust he saw that almost undid him. He had to tell her. The longer he waited, the less his intentions mattered and he needed to be worthy of her faith in him.
“Leighton—”
The smoke alarm shrieked just as the acrid odor wrinkled his nose. They both jumped.
Shit. The lumps of charcoal in the pan bore little resemblance to the ingredient he’d originally added.
Leighton grabbed the towel from his waist and he rushed over to open the back door. A moment later, the siren ceased its assault on their ears.
He threw an arm along her shoulder. “This is why you could never be in the kitchen with me. You’re too much of a distraction.”
“I don’t want to distract you. I want to eat!” She pointed to his half-empty wine glass on the counter. “Is there more?”
“Sure. On the fourth shelf of the wine fridge. The pinot grigio.”
He tossed the pan in the sink, flooding it with water and dish soap. He grabbed a fresh pan, added more olive oil and garlic, and began chopping a new batch of pancetta.
Leighton topped off his glass, poured one for herself and settled on a bar stool. “What are you making?”
“Spaghetti carbonara.”
“Is this one of your favorite dishes?”
“It is. I promised I’d make it for you.”
“And you’re a man of your word.” She took a sip of wine. “How are things going at the restaurant? Are you going to be ready for the opening?”
Pancetta in the pan, part deux. He grabbed a carton of eggs from the refrigerator and cracking one said, “It’ll be close, but we’ll get there.”
“Close.” She lowered her head and trailed a finger around the rim of her glass. “Because of me.”
“No, not because of you. You didn’t delay permits or cause our neighbor to get his boxers in a bunch under his balls.”
She burst out laughing and bliss rippled through his chest. He’d make it one of his missions in life to invoke that sound from her. Often.
“Boxers . . . in a bunch . . . under his balls?” she managed around fits of giggles.
His lips quirked. “You never heard that expression?”
“No one has. You totally made it up.”
“I did not. But I don’t mind taking credit for it. It’s a good one. And it describes the situation perfectly. That’s what delayed our opening.”
She sobered. “But having to babysit me didn’t help.”
Uh-uh. He didn’t want those lush lips downturned in remorse. He wanted her laughing and satiated. Because she deserved to be happy.
And it’d help when he finally told her the truth.
Coward.
“If you feel so bad about it, why don’t you return the favor and babysit me?” He gave the hunk of fresh parmesan one final pass, then sat the cheese down and tapped the grater against the bowl. He winked at her. “That’ll fulfill all of my teenage fantasies.”
A corner of her mouth lifted in response and her eyes softened. “You are too cute for your own good.”
Much better! “Really? I’ve never heard that one before.”
“But seriously”—she leaned forward—“you’ll be ready?”
He grabbed a whisk and began incorporating the eggs and grated cheese. “We’ll be ready.”
“Good.” She sagged against the stool’s backrest. “When are your friends supposed to arrive?”
“In two days.”
“On Thursday? Why so early? The opening isn’t until Saturday.”
He seasoned the mixture with a pinch of salt and pepper, then removed the pan from the heat. The pancetta survived. “They want to come in early so Indi can get settled before the event.”
“Is she okay?”
“She’s pregnant. She’s actually due in two weeks, though she swears it’ll be late, because it’s their first baby. They’ve chartered a private plane for her comfort.”
“That’s extremely thoughtful of her husband. Which one is she married to?”
“Mike.”
“Right. Mike and India. Adam and Chelsea.” She repeated the couplings like a mantra. “That’s sweet of Mike, but didn’t they consider staying home?”
“That’s what I said, but I realized I was wasting my breath.” He used tongs to add the cooked pasta to the pan, swirling it in the meat, garlic and oil. “They wouldn’t miss the opening. It’s become a tradition.”
He combined all of the components and when the noodles were sufficiently sauced, he plated the meal. He twirled the pasta with the tongs, grated on some additional cheese, wiped any excess off the outer rim and . . .
Voila!
When he straightened, she was standing beside him. She rested her hand on his back, the touch branding him as hers.
“This looks incredible,” she said.
He inhaled and his chest expanded with satisfaction. “Thank you.”
She kissed him. “Will you re-think your rule about having me in the kitchen? I love watching you cook.”
He had to bite his tongue to refrain from promising her anything she wanted.
Not yet.
He lifted the plates and nodded to their glasses. “Grab those and follow me.”
Though she was only a few seconds behind him, he’d reached the dining room, deposited the plates and was setting the electric lighter down when she appeared in the doorway.
She gasped.
Flickering tapered candles sat in sterling silver holders and, with the dim overhead lighting, imbued the space with a dreamy ambience. The dark wood of the table gleamed in the candlelight and the silverware shone where it lay on the white cloth napkins. It was simple, elegant and intimate.
Leighton set the wine glasses on the table and reached out to stroke a petal of the floral centerpiece.
“It’s beautiful,” she breathed.
He’d told her he didn’t know anything about flowers, and that was true, but he knew what he liked. And the colorful bouquet of roses, lilies and sunflowers reminded him of a well-balanced plate of food, with different hues and textures combining to create a beautiful work of art.
“These are the flowers I’d pick for my wedding,” he said, finally answering her question from their visit with Kimberly Reed.
She nodded, her gaze shining. “Me, too.”
He pulled out her chair and when she was seated, he joined her at the table.
She smiled. “This looks amazing.”
She took a bite of food and her lashes fluttered shut, an expression of ecstasy coloring her features. His dick immediately hardened.
“This is the best carbonara I’ve ever had.” Her tongue darted out and swept over her bottom lip.
He almost groaned aloud, but he caught himself, transforming it into a cough. He cleared his throat. Focus, Moran. Keep it light and playful.
“There’s a possibility you’re forgetting a meal, but it’s okay. I’ll take it.”
She actually moaned. “Good. Because I meant it.”
He loved watching her eat his food, loved the passion and intensity she gave to the task. There’s nothing he hated more than seeing someone nibble, or even worse, take a few bites and push the plate away. He knew she liked watching movies, appreciated simple works of art and wasn’t shy about enjoying good food. He knew what she looked like when he was pleasuring her, knew the feel of her pussy clenching his fingers, her clit swelling against his tongue. He knew his hand would always be a poor substitute for what he really wanted.
But there was so much more to learn and he wanted to know it all.
“It must’ve been fun to grow up the only child of an ambassador.”
“It definitely was an adventure. I traveled a lot when I was younger and I thought it was normal. Didn’t everyone tour the world, greeted and praised everywhere they went?” Her laugh was self-deprecating. “It wasn’t until I was older that I realized how fortunate I was.”
“My family didn’t do adventurous. Our vacations were limited to the DMV.” He used the nickname many locals understood to refer to the DC-Maryland-Virginia region. “Sometimes, if my parents were feeling bold, we’d head down to the Outer Banks or Myrtle Beach.”
She paused, her fork halfway to her mouth. “You’re kidding, right?”
He wished. He shook his head and took a sip of wine.
“You’ve mentioned your brother before. Is he older or younger?”
Chilled tendrils wrapped around his heart and squeezed. “Older.”
“So you’re the baby?”
Her teasing tone abated some of his dread. He linked his fingers with hers and placed her hand on his thigh. “There’s nothing babyish about me.”
“No, there isn’t.” She squeezed his hard quad muscle. “Does your brother live here?”
He disentangled his fingers from hers and rested his hand on the table. “Yes.”
“It’s good to have family nearby.” She frowned. “He hasn’t been around since I came home from the hospital.”
His stomach churned and his internal body temperature rose. The very last thing he wanted to discuss was his brother.
“He’s traveling for work.”
Leighton had other ideas. “Oh? What does he do?”
“Why the interrogation?” He lost control of his tone and immediately regretted his harshness.
She stiffened. “I understand my questions may be frustrating for you, considering you’ve probably already told me about him, but—”
“No.” He reclaimed her hand. “No, I’m being an ass. I’m sorry.”
She didn’t pull away from him, but she pinched her lips tight and refused to meet his gaze.
“My brother—Thomas—works in finance.”
The tension seeped from her posture. “One brother in finance, one a chef. Two very different men.”
No shit. “Yeah, you could say that.”
“Who don’t get along.”
It wasn’t a question. “How did you know?”
“It’s obvious.”
He slumped back in his chair and a familiar numbness stole over him. “I wish it weren’t.”
“What happened?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s because we were so different. I found it very challenging to have the perfect older brother. There wasn’t an adventure I had that he didn’t have first. A teacher I had who didn’t already know about Thomas. A place to hang out that he hadn’t already frequented. I wanted to be seen as my own person. Everyone expected me to be like Thomas and I wasn’t. I was me.”
She rotated her wrist until she was cupping his hand. “Is that why you went to Stanford?”
He nodded. “My parents were hurt by my decision. Thomas saw it as a betrayal to the family. He’s yet to forgive me.”
“And that’s why you came back to DC?”
“A big part of it.”
“Has it worked?”
He thought about his current situation. “Not really.”
She shrugged. “He needs to get over it.”
She couldn’t have surprised him more if she’d stood and dumped the contents of her plate over his head. “Excuse me?”
“What did you do to him exactly? Choose to live your life outside of his shadow? What was wrong with that decision? Apparently, it was the right one for you. You went away and in doing so, you found yourself. No one who loves you should fault you for that. And I’m happy to share my opinion with him the next time I see him.” She picked up her fork and continued eating.
He stared at her, amazed at her support of him.
And you’re lying to her.
He’d thought the evening would end with him telling her the truth and his plans hadn’t changed, but he wasn’t ready. He needed more time.
“If you’re not too tired, how about another movie? There’s a new Mad Max movie that came out last year—”
She removed her napkin from her lap and placed it next to her plate. “I’m not tired at all, but I don’t want to watch a movie.”
The husky tone and suggestive quality of her voice clearly telegraphed her intent.
He swallowed. This wasn’t a good idea.
“Scrabble, chess, cards?”
She shook her head.
He’d tasted her on his lips ever since their first night together in this house. Although he’d told himself he’d done it for her, it was a lie. He’d wanted to be with her and he couldn’t pass up the opportunity, even if he hated himself for doing so.
“We should wait until you get your memory back.”
She rose and moved around the table until she was standing before him. “Perfect timing. I got some back today.”
Oh, crap, he’d forgotten that quickly. “Leighton—”
She scraped a hand through his hair. “Do you want me?”
Want seemed too tame to describe the roiling need for her that raged within him. “More than you know.”
She exhaled. “Do you love me?”
He talked about her incessantly with Mike, Gib and Adam. He’d altered his life for her—Hello, she was now living in his house! He wanted to spend all of his time with her and when they weren’t together he was thinking about her. Both the thought of living without her and the thought of her with anyone else was unbearable. Not to mention the fact that she’d stealthily and steadily climbed to the top of the list of everything that was important to him.
Did he love Leighton Clarke?
“Yes.”
“Isn’t that the only thing that matters?” she asked, staring down at him. “I may not remember how we met or what happened last year, but I know I don’t want to go another moment unaware of how it feels to have you inside of me.”
Holy fuck! How was he supposed to resist her when she said things like that?
The moment of truth. If he did this, there was no turning back. Despite his past inclination for short-term flings, there was nothing temporary about his feelings for Leighton. He didn’t have any illusions that this was a hit it and quit it affair. If he surrendered to what he was feeling, did what his heart and body had been screaming at him to do, it could cost him his relationship with his brother and further strain his family. The very thing he’d come back to DC to mend.
Was she worth it?
She held out her hand. “Dinner was delicious, but I’m ready for my dessert.”
Her gaze was direct and fierce, a siren’s song calling out to him. And he was incapable of resisting.