Page 16 of Finding Alexei
“Sure. That’d be great,” he says. “I think I have stuff for pasta or stir fry. There’s chicken and ground bison, and I’m not sure what else.”
Bison? Um . . . no thanks.
I open his fridge, and it’s like a food utopia. It’s all completely organized with glass containers filled with cooked rice, grilled chicken breasts, roasted sweet potatoes, and greens, and cartons of fresh berries. There are at least half a dozen avocados, and even individual jars of overnight oats with slivered almonds.
“Holy hell. This is amazing.”
Alexei chuckles. “I have to eat well during the season. And I go through a lot of food. My housekeeper is also my food shopper and preparer since cooking isn’t really my thing.”
“I can see that.” My fridge is sad in comparison. Bottled mustard and old pickles, along with a half-empty bottle of white wine.
Relieved that there’s at least something I can do to make myself useful, I select the ingredients for chicken marsala. There’s thawed chicken breasts and two cartons of mushrooms, along with the shallots and whole garlic cloves I spotted on the counter earlier. My mouth is practically watering already. Anything is better than instant noodles, but this is heaven.
Something inside me wants to impress him. I have zero to offer this man in return for his kindness, and he’s already done so much for Ella and me. I’ll show him my appreciation through his stomach—instead of in his bed like I wanted to do a few moments ago. I won’t sleep with him.
So I begin the food preparations, wanting to surprise him with how well I can cook. I have the chicken coated in flour and cooking in a sauté pan when he strolls into the kitchen carrying Ella.
“We could open a bottle of wine,” he says when he sees the direction I’m headed.
I fill a pot with water and turn on the gas burner. Even his stove is incredible—a six-burner gas range that looks like it belongs in a commercial kitchen.
“I didn’t think you’d drink, what with being Mr. Healthy and all.” I smile at him. It appears my bath and the clean clothes have done wonders for my spirits.
“I can have a glass. But if you don’t want one . . .”
“I’d love a glass,” I say.
While I sauté the mushrooms, shallots, and minced garlic in another pan, Alexei uncorks a bottle of chilled white wine. He pours two glasses and sets mine on the counter beside me.
I pick up the fine stemware and turn to face him. “Cheers,” I murmur.
He clinks his glass to mine, one hand still holding Ella. “Cheers.”
His gaze lingers on mine as I bring the glass to my lips and take a sip. The temperature in the kitchen soars about six thousand degrees, and it has nothing to do with the heat from the stove or the wine. His eyes on me are intoxicating.
As Alexei turns to prepare Ella’s evening bottle, I wonder how I’ll possibly keep my hands to myself when this gorgeous man is strutting around looking like sex on a stick, all while doing nothing more than holding a baby who doesn’t belong to him. I can’t stop thinking about it. Every time he does something with Ella, my ovaries think for me.
I’m totally screwed.Chapter FiveRyleighThese last few nights have been nice, but apparently Alexei has gone and lost his freaking mind.
When he told me this morning he’s flying to California later today for an away game, I started packing, assuming I’d obviously have to find another place to go. He disagreed, and now we’ve been arguing about this for the past thirty minutes.
He’s insane, absolutely insane. And now he’s staring at me with that sexy, determined expression, his fists clenched at his sides. If it’s a fight he wants, it’s a fight he’s going to get. Bring it, buddy.
I square my shoulders and summon the most commanding tone I can muster. “I can’t stay here while you’re gone.”
He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing in the most distracting way. “Of course you can. I offered. You’ll accept. It’s a done deal.” His eyes are playful, but his stance says he means business.
Well, two can play at that game, dude. I’m not intimidated by the fact he’s a professional athlete. I can and will hold my own.
“It’s not a done deal. I won’t stay here, Alexei. End of story. You’ve already been too generous, too kind. I won’t take advantage of you like that. I’m practically a stranger, and you can’t possibly trust me alone in your home.”
I mean, seriously. The dinner, the bath, the heavenly comfortable bed—everything has been great, but I’ve known all along it’s a very temporary solution to my problem.
He smirks, somehow going from angry to amused in about 3.5 seconds. “Oh yeah? And why not? Are you going to make chicken parmesan? Take a bath in my tub? Use all the towels? Do a load of laundry? Be my guest.”
