Page 13 of Good Girl Gone Bad

“Good. I’ll make you one my specialties,” he said, and turned around to fetch two pots from the cupboard.

She watched him get some organic, expensive-looking pasta from the pantry, as well as spices from the rack, and start working the stove. “Do you cook for all your, er, purchased lovers?” she asked, regretting her question the second it flew from her mouth. What else could she call herself?

He tossed her a glance over his shoulder then opened the freezer and produced a bag with precooked shrimp and scallops. Really, it shouldn’t matter what he did with other women, anyway. A lot of guys were douches and pretended to be something they were not. At least with Marco, she knew what to expect from day one.

“I’ve had girlfriends before. You’re my first purchased, temporary lover.”

The confession brought a silly reassurance to her. She crossed her legs in a vain effort to keep her essence from seeping through the sheet and staining his stool. “Don’t you say that to all of them?”

“No. I always put contracts in place, even with girlfriends, to protect my interests. But this is the first time I’ve signed a contract with much tighter clauses.”

“So you don’t pay your girlfriends for sex?” She admired the way his bare back glowed under the kitchen lights. His gorgeous, dark olive complexion enhanced the well-defined muscles and wide shoulders. Black lounging pants outlined his perfect ass.

“No.”

“Then why contracts?” she asked, curious. It wasn’t like he was marrying them and needed a prenup.

He continued to cook, but she didn’t miss how his muscles tensed for a bit. He probably didn’t get asked these things every day. Maybe she should leave this get-to-know-me question for later. Sure, they were hooking up, but did that mean she had to keep it super light all the time? Without giving in to curiosity?

“It’s okay. You don’t have to answer,” she said. She didn’t need to read a Booty Call 101 textbook to sense his uneasiness.

He shrugged and turned to her, peering at her with those gorgeous brown eyes yet still managing not to give away much. “Contracts help me keep things in perspective. I don’t want to disappoint anyone who’s thinking I’ll give them what I’m not interested in giving. I don’t lie, Lily. Besides, the confidentiality agreement ensures people won’t be writing things about me, or posting on social media.”

She drummed her fingers on the marbled counter. Behind all that overconfidence lurked the fear of compromising, which was even worse than commitment. At least in bed, she mused inwardly, Marco was a giver. “Isn’t it boring, though? To know exactly how each of your relationships will evolve? Or in your case, not evolve?”

He opened a drawer and fetched silverware. “Contracts may be the same, but people aren’t,” he said, and continued to fumble with plates and other appliances. Her father always cleaned when issues at the church worried him, or he needed a breather. He hated cleaning, so whenever she or her mother found him wiping the kitchen countertops or dusting the shelves, they knew something bothered him.

“Truth. Why did you invite me to go on a trip and not one of your girlfriends?” she asked, her gaze following his movements even if he didn’t stop to answer.

He grabbed the napkin holder and put it on the island. How many other objects would he move until she finished this conversation? “I did invite a girlfriend first. An ex. But she didn’t take to the idea of pretending we were engaged after only dating for a few months.”

“Oh. Do you miss her?”

“No,” he said without hesitation.

The same way he won’t miss me when I’m gone.“Because you don’t get attached?”

He produced a wine bottle from the fridge and opened it. “Because I knew what to expect.”

She toyed with the fork he’d arranged in front of her. “I guess I see a point. I always hope for the best and sometimes get kicked to the curb. I thought I’d be with my first boyfriend Harry forever. But after three years together, he slept with this girl from work.”

“He was an idiot. But his loss is my gain,” he said, filling two glasses of wine.

“That’s right. A one-month gain,” she said, emphasizing the amount of time they’d have together—if not to him, to herself.

He handed her a glass. “Cheers.”

She enjoyed the straightforward light white wine with a fruity note. While he finished cooking the pasta, sautéing the shrimp and scallops in a sauce that teased her nostrils, she mused. Growing up, her parents always emphasized that sex was an act of love. Her father, more conservative, linked intercourse to marriage, family, commitment. Her mother thankfully, kept up with the times, but she still taught her one didn’t screw another without special feelings involved. Certainly not for money.

They had a point, but why shouldn’t she find out for herself? If anyone could teach her a thing or two about walking on the wild side, Marco Giordano fit the bill. Hell to the yes.

When he put a plate of angel hair pasta with shaved cheese and seafood in front of her, she breathed in the exquisite aroma. “This looks amazing.”

He slid into the seat next to her, bringing his own plate. She never expected him to cook so well. She took bite after bite of the delicious dish, the spices and flavor scintillating in her mouth.

“It tastes amazing.”

He angled close enough that his breath brushed her hair, sending a gazillion thrills through her. “So do you.”

To dispel the tension, she twirled a good amount of angel hair onto her fork and brought it to her mouth. She didn’t need to look at him to feel his gaze on her. She’d wrapped the sheet around her like a sarong, but now, as her chest rose and fell due to heavy breathing, the top suffocated her.

She clumsily tried to veer the conversation toward current events and politics, a subject certain to cool things down. They happened to agree on a lot of stances, and now she wished they didn’t.

Finally, she dabbed her mouth on the napkin after finishing the food. She turned her face to him, glad to see him done as well. “Thanks for doing all this,” she said, wondering if now would be a good time to put on her clothes and jet. She wanted to stay, but also had to be one step ahead of him to keep her feelings in check.

Marco’s finger outlined the knot she’d made in the sheet. “You’re welcome. How about some dessert?” he asked, undoing the knot, and soon, the sheet swooshed away from her, leaving her completely naked on the stool. Bare.

How in the world could she take a month of this without getting attached?

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