Chapter Eleven

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Elizabeth

I was in the back of the car at two after eight.

I’d let everyone leave early again.

Michael hadn’t deigned to show up to work at all, so I figured why the hell should we all waste our time? Especially when my plan was for him not to win his reelection. On the account of him being impeached and awaiting criminal charges.

I felt guilty making everyone pull a normal workday knowing what I knew. But, then again, we were all getting paid for our time, so I guess it didn’t matter. The only people I truly felt bad for were the idealistic interns who actually believed Michael’s campaign promises. Though, if they worked side-by-side with him and heard all the things we all did every day and still believed him, the real problem was their gullibility.

My head was on a swivel in the backseat, looking for any cars that might be following me as I gave the driver the wrong directions twice in an attempt to shake a tail even if I did have one.

In the end, though, there was no one following us when we finally pulled onto Elian’s street, and it felt good to climb out casually instead of making a mad dash for the door, trying to get inside a safe building and away from any windows someone might shoot me through.

Without a key, though, I did feel a little exposed as I hit the buzzer for Elian’s condo, and had to wait for him to let me up.

I was barely a step off of the elevator on his floor when the tangy scent of tomatoes wafted over to me, making me take a deep, greedy breath.

I don’t know about other women, but the idea of a man cooking for me was almost ridiculously sexy.

Almost as sexy as that little run-in in the hallway that morning that I kept trying to remind myself to stop thinking about.

And failed.

Over and over and over.

I was sitting at my desk with my thighs pressed together for most of the day because of the way my body was reacting just to the memory of that little incident.

It had been hot enough just to be close to a man as gorgeous as Elian without his shirt on. But to actually be up against him without a stitch of clothing on? That was another level.

I’d been careless when I went to take my shower, so used to my usual routine and apartment, where I could walk out of my bathroom and right into my bedroom, that I’d just simply forgotten to bring my change of clothes into the bathroom with me.

Hence the mad dash across the hallway.

Where I plowed right into a half-naked Elian.

And like some bad movie, the towel untucked and fell to my feet, leaving me completely naked against his bare chest and stomach.

The brush of his skin against my breast had desire pinging off every nerve ending, igniting a fire that burned through me slowly until it overtook me completely. I mean, I was just barely strong enough to not turn and brush myself against him again.

I’m not proud to admit that when he closed his eyes to protect the privacy I wasn’t sure I actually wanted, I took a good, long look at him.

It’s not even my fault.

The man had the kind of body that demanded you step back and really drink him in.

Wide shoulders, a firm chest, corded biceps, and a six-pack that tapered into that sexy V that disappeared into the low-slung pajama pants.

And, well, then there was the proof of his own desire pressing against that thin material, leaving no question that he was as impacted by the moment as I was.

I kind of wish my shoulder had brushed him a little more.

God, what the heck was wrong with me?

I don’t ever remember being so consumed with the idea of a man before. Maybe because the focus in the past had been almost exclusively on my schooling and career.

Now that said career was kind of crumbling, I guess I had more mental space for thoughts of Elian to slip in.

I was actually kind of disappointed when I went into the condo to find him fully clothed.

“Bad day?” he asked when I let out a deep sigh as I kicked out of my shoes, then walked barefoot over to where Kevin was hanging out on his tree stand, lazily patting at the swinging yarn ball that hung from it.

“He didn’t even come in today,” I told Elian. “Hey, bud. Did you have a fun day in a new place?” I asked, getting a little purr out of him in response.

“I’m sorry. I know you really wanted to be done with this,” he said as I made my way back to the kitchen, where he was standing in a plain black tee and slacks. “Are you interested in wine?” he asked, waving toward a bottle of red he had breathing on the island.

“Only if you won’t judge me for putting ice cubes in it,” I said.

I knew alcohol could be a migraine trigger, but I could really use something to release some of the tension that had crept into my neck and shoulders. And, well, other places as well.

Elian grabbed a wineglass, slipped a few ice cubes into it, then poured me a glass. While my horny self watched the way his forearm muscles moved with each motion, thinking of other things that might make those muscles twitch and tense in similar ways.

“You alright?” Elian asked, picking up on something strange in my face, leaving me praying that he wasn’t great at reading desire.

“Yeah,” I agreed, giving him a small smile as I reached for my glass. “Thank—“ I started to say before our fingers brushed on the glass, and I swear a spark sizzled up my arm. “Thanks,” I said, ignoring the slight husky sound to my voice. “So, what are you cooking?” I asked.

The tomato scent was much stronger now. But this close, I could make out hints of other scents. Garlic, oil, basil, and oregano.

“Cheese ravioli,” he said, going over to the counter to grab a large metal bowl, bringing it back to the island, sprinkling some flour on the surface, and then dropping a ball of dough onto the concrete countertop.

“From scratch?” I asked, mouth falling open.

To that, Elian’s brows scrunched. “How else is there to make it?” he asked.

“Well, from the freezer,” I admitted, suddenly feeling a little stupid because, obviously, someone had to roll the dough and fill the ravioli before freezing it.

“You haven’t lived until you’ve had it fresh,” he assured me, producing some weird, wavy metal utensil that he used to slice the dough ball in half, putting some of it back into the bowl, then reaching for a piece of wood.

“What is that?”

“A rolling pin,” he said, looking even more confused.

“Don’t rolling pins have handles?” I asked, looking at the thing that tapered to each end, but didn’t have actual handles.

“This is a French rolling pin,” he told me. “They’re easier to use, I feel,” he said, sprinkling flour on it and the dough, then rolling it out, and giving me another forearm show to gawk at.

“You are clocked in,” Elian said a while later as I watched him drop little blobs of cheese in rows along the dough, then place the other flattened bit of dough over top of them.

“This is practically meditative,” I told him, even if calm was the last thing my body and mind felt right then.

“Come here,” he said, and I was off the stool before I could even think better of it.

Elian wiped off his hands, then dug in a drawer until he produced a little tool that had a spiky circle at the end.

“That looks like a boot spur,” I declared as he reached for me, moving me between him and the island, the whole of his front against my back.

I actually felt the chuckle vibrate from him and into me. Which wasn’t helping the chaos moving through my body.

“This is a pastry wheel,” Elian said as he reached around me to run it down a row of the cheese blobs, cutting the dough. “You try,” he said, pressing the wheel into my hand, but not moving away, just standing there right behind me, smelling like heaven and feeling even better as he watched over my shoulder.

I set to work, cutting vertical lines between the blobs of cheese, then doing horizontal ones as well.

“That’s it?” I asked, excited at having helped, even if it was in the simplest way possible.

“Nope. Now we need this super specialized piece of equipment,” he said, opening a drawer… and producing a fork.

“A fork?” I said with a smile. “For what?”

“For sealing the edges of the ravioli,” he said, demonstrating by pressing the tines of the fork around all four edges of each ravioli. “Here. You got this,” he said, handing me the fork, then turning his attention to stir his sauce. He produced a loaf of Italian bread, then set to slicing it, filling it with butter, garlic, and herbs while I worked at sealing the ravioli.

Elian even let me lower the ravioli into the boiling water when they were done, and I moved to take my seat again, feeling like I’d finally had my first cooking lesson. Even if, objectively, Elian had done all the actual cooking. It still felt like an accomplishment.

“I can’t wait to try it,” I admitted, sipping my wine again as Elian tossed a quick salad, then set the table as we waited for the ravioli to finish.

Within another twenty minutes, we were sitting at the table with our food, and I was trying not to seem like I was rushing through my salad to get to the ravioli.

“Oh my God,” I groaned as I finally got a bite.

“Better than the omelet?” he asked, eyes warm as he watched me shove another ravioli into my mouth.

“I know it is good manners to talk during dinner,” I said. “But I need to focus on this food,” I said, getting an appreciative chuckle out of Elian as I continued eating until the waistband of my pants was cutting into my stomach.

“I’m going to need to start a more intense fitness routine if you cook like this too often,” I told him, sitting back against the chair to take more sips of my wine.

“Wait ‘till you try my lasagne,” he said, getting a little groan out of me.

“Are you committed to this career path of yours?” I asked. “Because I’d pay good money to have a live-in chef.”

“Don’t tempt me,” he said, his gaze slipping to my lips for a second before moving back up. Or was that wishful thinking?

“How about, since you cooked, I wash dishes?”

“That’s what a dishwasher is for,” he said, gathering the plates, and bringing them to the kitchen. “Do you want more wine with dessert? Or coffee?” he asked.

“Let’s go with coffee,” I said, not wanting to risk another glass, no matter how good it was. “You bake too?”

“Unfortunately, no,” he said, reaching into the fridge and producing two slices of cheesecake. “This is bakery-bought. Never could get the hang of baking. My ma used to say that cooking is an art, but baking is a science. Guess science isn’t my strong suit.”

The closest I come to baking is cutting up those pre-made log cookies with the little festive designs on them, and throwing them in the oven. It makes it feel at least a little bit like the holidays.

This past holiday season had been especially sad without my grandfather around to spend the time with. Sure, we ordered in meals, but at least we shared it with one another in my apartment with the pretty little tree I’d put up.

But without him, I almost didn’t even put the tree up at all. The only reason I did was because it felt too depressing not to. Though as I sat there looking at it while eating out of a Chinese food takeout container, I figured maybe it was better to just… pretend the holidays weren’t happening if you had no one to share them with. To eat meals with, to watch movies with, to exchange gifts with.

“Did I lose you?” Elian asked, placing a mug of coffee and a plate with the cheesecake on it in front of me.

“Just for a second,” I admitted.

“So what are your weekend plans?” he asked.

“Working,” I admitted as I sliced off a bit of the cheesecake. “There really aren’t any days off when you’re working on a campaign.”

“What happens after the election is over?”

“I’m out of a job until the next election cycle. Some politicians keep us on in a different capacity, but not usually senators. Most campaign managers majored in marketing and public relations. So after a campaign is over, we find steady jobs in those areas, or we freelance.”

“What are your plans?”

“Freelance. It’s honestly the same amount of work, or less, than I’m doing now, but I get to do it from home. And when you’re paying that much for an apartment, it’s nice to actually be there to enjoy it.”

“Why’d you take the campaign job then? Did you believe that much in Michael?”

“God no,” I said, then pressed my lips together at how bad that sounded. “No. Our politics don’t exactly align. And our morals even less so. But I think after my grandfather’s illness and passing, I’d been kind of paranoid about having really good benefits. As soon as mine kicked in, I had every test imaginable run.

“I’ll have to go back to paying one hundred percent of my health insurance after this job ends. And I’ll probably try to get the lowest one I can to cut costs. That’s what I was doing before. But at least this time, I know that everything is good for the time being,” I said, waving a hand down at myself.

I thought nothing of the movement.

Until Elian’s gaze followed the motion.

I swear each inch of me that his eyes slid over warmed.

And we weren’t going to focus too much on how my pulse quickened, nipples hardened, and sex fluttered in interest.

Because those were dangerous thoughts.

I only half paid attention to the conversation as we finished our food because my slutty inner dialog was thinking about other things he could do with that mouth as he ate his cheesecake off his fork. The way his tongue flicked out slightly to lick his lip nearly had me spreading myself on the table in front of him and demanding to be his second dessert.

Those were the same thoughts that were on my mind as I took myself to bed a while later, changing into silky pajamas that only made me more aware of the heightened sensitivity of my skin as I tossed and turned in bed.

Finally, I kicked off the covers, feeling too overheated for them, and let my hand travel down my body, slipping under the waistband of my pajama shorts and panties.

The brush of my fingers nearly brought me to climax immediately, I was so fired up.

It wasn’t long until my back was arching, and my breathing was coming in fast and shallow huffs, little whimpers escaping me as my eyes drifted closed, and I imagined Elian’s hand where my hand was. Then his mouth.

And, well, another part of him as my fingers slid inside of me.

The second I let out a little gasp of pleasure, though, I heard something else entirely.

“Fuck,” Elian’s husky voice rushed out of him, making my gaze fly open, head whipping over to find Elian standing in the crack of the door I was positive I’d shut. “Kevin…” he started to explain as the cat lazily walked in, tail swishing, completely oblivious to the tension.

Elian didn’t finish his sentence, just pulled the door shut on the scene he’d just walked in on.

“Oh, God,” I whimpered, hand sliding out of my panties as I sat up in bed, face flaming, as embarrassment flooded my system.

No one had ever walked in on me in a compromised position like that before. I had no idea how awkward it was for Elian. But I was pretty sure at that moment, I would welcome an assassin’s bullet cutting through the bedroom window and putting me out of my misery.

How the hell was I going to face him again?

Well, the simple answer was I wasn’t.

Mature of me, I know.

But that was a humiliating position to be caught in.

I was just going to get up before he did and rush out of the condo. Then, hopefully, I could record the senator, and be done with this whole ordeal.

We were going to go ahead and pretend that I didn’t feel a surge of disappointment about being out of Elian’s apartment, out of Elian’s life.

Because that was just craziness.