Page 17 of Savage Vows

“Of course not.” His lips twitch. “Let’s go into the dining room.”

While I grab the wine, he carries my food.

At the foot of the table, he moves aside my old plate and replaces it with the new one.

His fingers brush mine as he hands me a napkin, and a chill goes through me. Matteo is making it difficult for me to hate him.

He takes his place at the far end of the table. He lifts his glass and angles it toward me.

I don’t follow suit. As far as I’m concerned, we have nothing to celebrate.

Ignoring him, I pick up my sandwich, biting through the warm, perfect crust into the tangy gooeyness of the cheddar. The taste explodes in my mouth. It’s the best grilled cheese I’ve ever had.

He quirks an eyebrow.

“I love it.” And then, because of the manners my mother infused in me, I add, “Thank you.”

“My pleasure.”

The low, sexy rumble in his tone makes me look at him. Though he’s picked up his silverware, he hasn’t taken a bite, and he’s studying me intently.

Desperate for a distraction, I take a spoonful of the tasty soup.

Through dinner, we’re polite but mostly quiet.

After we’re finished, he suggests we go to the courtyard.

“It’s freezing out there,” I counter.

“We have a firepit and heaters.” He lifts a shoulder. “Along with blankets.”

“I might be convinced if we have hot chocolate.”

He steeples his hands in front of him. In an instant, the relaxed man he’d been disappears, and I see the power he wears as easily as his suit. “Not one of my specialties.”

“You’re in luck. It’s one of mine.”

“Deal.”

By unspoken accord, we carry our dishes into the kitchen. While I rummage through the spacious pantry, he rinses the plates and loads them into the dishwasher that is thoughtfully hidden behind the cabinetry.

When I emerge, carrying everything I need, he’s already pulled out a saucepan and set it on the induction stove.

In the fridge, I find heavy whipping cream along with milk. After only a moment’s hesitation, I pull out both.

He leans against the counter, arms folded, studying me. “How many ingredients does it take?”

“The more the better.”

I spoon a generous amount of cocoa powder into the pan, then add a pinch of salt, a smattering of cinnamon, and brown sugar.

“Brown sugar?”

“Makes it taste as if it has a little molasses in it.”

“Interesting.” He watches me as if I’m a puzzle he’s trying to solve.

“Trust me on this one,” I reply as I grate in some dark chocolate.

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