“I don’t blame you,” I say, making her smile.
“You promised to let me play around in your kitchen,” she says, eyeing the appliances she can’t wait to get her hands on.
“Beautiful and loves to cook.” I give her a wink. “Better be careful or I’ll be dragging you down the aisle soon.”
She laughs like I’m joking and gives me another kiss before wiggling out of my grip. I reluctantly let her go and watch her excited grin as she starts going through my drawers.
“Please tell me you have kitchen utensils hidden away somewhere else.” She eyes me from where she’s crouched and digging through a drawer that I’m fairly certain I’ve not only never used but actually never knew existed.
“Nope. I wasn’t kidding when I said I only used the microwave.” I sit down on one of the barstools and watch her. “You’re in luck, though. Dima said that Gina felt sorry for me and bought me some groceries.”
Moira’s smile grows when she opens the fridge and whispers a “Hallelujah,” before grabbing a bunch of things and piling them on the counter. “Are you a picky eater?”
“Not at all.”
“Good.” She digs around for a cast iron skillet and shoots me a curious look. “Odd choice for a man who never cooks.”
“It was a gift. I have no idea what to do with it. It’s been sitting there for years.”
“Well, I think it’s time we broke this puppy in.”
I sit back and watch her work. She’s clearly in her element, and I’ve never seen anyone so damn happy to be chopping up vegetables and marinating steak. She makes everything look effortless and sexy, and my stomach starts growling as soon as she puts the steaks on and the smell starts to fill the kitchen.
“I’m a little rusty since I’ve been living off of small, toaster oven pizzas and bagels since I got here, so I hope this tastes okay.”
“It smells delicious,” I tell her, “and anything is an improvement over what I’ve been eating so the bar is very, very low if it makes you feel any better.”
“Perfect,” she says with a laugh, placing one of the steaks on a plate and putting a square of butter on top. It starts melting immediately, and I’m practically drooling by the time she adds the baked potato and puts it down in front of me. The finishing touch is a colorful salad and a glass of wine.
“Wow,” I say, not even knowing where to begin. “Aside from supper at Dima’s and Aleksei’s, no one has ever cooked me a meal.”
She scoots onto the barstool next to me and says, “Good.” When I turn to her, she gives me a wink. “I don’t like competition.”
“Neither do I. Have you cooked for many men?” Even though I know I’m her first, I still feel insanely jealous about any other moments she might have shared with others. Unfair or not, the jealousy is still there.
Cutting into her steak, she says, “No, just my dad, but that was only because it couldn’t be avoided.”
I follow her lead and cut into my own steak, noticing how damn tender and juicy it is. “You don’t have any competition, Moira. No one else exists for me except you. They haven’t since the second I laid eyes on you.”
She smiles at my words and blushes before taking a huge bite of steak. I laugh and do the same. “Holy shit,” I groan, mumbling around my mouthful, amazed that anyone can make something taste so good. I’m two seconds away from getting on my knees and proposing, but figure it’s best to wait for a slightly more romantic moment and not when I’m almost orgasming from a bite of steak.
She lets out a moan of her own before turning to me and saying, “Looks like I’ve still got it.”
I’m already cutting up my next bite. I hadn’t realized how damn hungry I was. “I never doubted you for a second.”
In between bites, she tells me more about learning to box when she was younger and then about how her last visit went with Paddy when she signed the paperwork for the club.
“I always knew he was an ass, but I thought maybe old age would soften him up a bit.”
“I’m sorry he wasn’t kinder to you. I don’t think I ever saw him be anything other than a complete dick.”
“Yeah, I guess that’s just who he is. I’m sure prison will soften him up, though. If I ever go back and see him, he’ll probably be like a giant teddy bear, telling me stories about Ireland and nothing but smiles and cuddles.”
“You’re such a smartass,” I tell her with a laugh.
“Maybe a little bit,” she admits.
I get up and start to wash the dishes. When she starts to get up, I say, “Don’t you dare,” and refill her glass of wine. “You cooked. The least I can do is the dishes. I mean, even I can handle that. Probably.”