* * *
Amelia woke with a start. She looked behind her. The bed was empty. The clock on the wall in her bedroom said it was noon. She’d slept for two hours.
Okay, then. She did feel a lot better after that nap. She stretched, got up and went to the bathroom, then threw on underwear and a tank top and wandered down the hall to look for Flynn.
When she entered the kitchen, she halted mid stride.
Flynn was standing at her stove, cooking . . . something. While naked and wearing one of her aprons.
Now, that was a sight Amelia didn’t see every day. Or ever. A gorgeous, tattooed, apron-wearing naked man cooking in her kitchen.
She walked into the kitchen, trying to be as quiet as possible as she moved in behind Flynn. She scooped her arms around him. “Did anyone ever tell you that your ass looks amazing in an apron?”
He looked over his shoulder at her and grinned. “All the time.”
She cocked a smile at him. “What are you doing?”
“Cooking.”
She rolled her eyes. “Obviously. Looks like eggs Benedict. And asparagus.”
“I already did a Caprese salad. That’s in the fridge.”
Her stomach rumbled. “Now I’m starving.”
“I figured you might be hungry. I was about to wake you up.”
“Wearing that getup, I hope.”
He laughed. “Maybe. Now that I know naked apron-wearing guys are such a turn-on for you, I’m going to have to buy one.”
She went to grab the salad and her pitcher of iced tea out of the fridge. “Why buy one, when my pink and black teapot apron looks so good on you?”
He grabbed a plate and started preparing the main course. “You have a point. Fine. I’m keeping this one. It makes my eyes stand out, doesn’t it?”
“No, it makes your ass stand out.” She poured two glasses of iced tea.
He brought a plate over and placed it in front of her, then grabbed his and set it on the island. “I’ll be right back.”
While he was gone, she served up the Caprese salad on both of their plates and pulled out silverware. When Flynn came back into the room, he was wearing his jeans.
“Now I’m sad. I was so enjoying the apron show.”
He pulled up a seat at the island. “I’m sure you were. But I don’t think you want my naked ass on your cloth seats.”
She took a napkin and set it on her lap. “I’m happy for you to place your naked ass wherever you want.”
He lifted his gaze to hers and shot a hot smile at her. “And how about your naked ass, Amelia?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know, Flynn. What would you like to do with my naked ass?”
He lifted his fork. “This conversation is making my dick hard. I’m filing it away for future reference.”
“You do that.” She knew the feeling. Just discussing sex of any kind with Flynn made her belly—and other parts south—quiver. She was so incredibly sexually attracted to him.
But there was so much more depth to him. Like this meal, for example. She was certainly hungry, but she also took the time to savor each bite of the Canadian bacon, poached egg and biscuit. And the hollandaise sauce was creamy and delicious.
“You didn’t use the store-bought biscuits I had in the fridge.”
He frowned. “Bite your tongue, woman. That’s fine if you want to slather some butter and jelly on them. But for this you need scratch biscuits.”
“You are a man after my own heart, Flynn Cassidy.”
He gave her a look she didn’t quite know how to decipher. Something between a smile and a look of confusion.
Then again, it didn’t surprise her since their relationship was often confusing to her. Last night she’d been an utter bitch to him. This morning there’d been hot sex. And now he’d cooked for her. He was smart and focused and talented and ridiculously good-looking, not to mention panty-dropping sexy. He was oh-dear-God fine in the sack, too. The man knew his way around a woman’s body.
Was she crazy to be so wary of a relationship with him considering he was maybe the perfect man?
No. No man was perfect. Flynn certainly had flaws. She just hadn’t seen them yet.
“You’re kind of quiet over there.”
She lifted her gaze to his, along with her fork. “Stuffing my face over here. And thank you for fixing food for me. Not only food, but delicious food.”
He shrugged. “I know basic stuff, nothing fancy. And you’re welcome.”
“Don’t downgrade your abilities in the kitchen, Flynn. You could have whipped up some scrambled eggs and toast, but you didn’t. This is fancy.”
“Thanks.”
Amelia got an inkling that maybe Flynn enjoyed cooking more than he let on. That maybe he wanted to cook more than he let anyone know. For a guy, especially a guy whose job it wasn’t to be a chef or a cook of any kind, dabbling in the culinary arts could—to some people—maybe seem less than masculine.
Which, to her, and to a lot of people, was utterly ridiculous. Times had most definitely changed and everyone loved cooking now, from men to women to children. But coming at it from Flynn’s perspective, here was a man who played football in a very highly testosterone-laden environment. He had three brothers. It could possibly be that he didn’t want to give the impression that cooking was his passion.
Which was okay, but she knew he loved Ninety-Two. No reason not to love the cooking part of it as well. She could see him becoming more involved behind the scenes there. She wasn’t some crazy chef who didn’t let anyone into her kitchen. Flynn was the owner. If he wanted to come in and dabble . . .
“So, you love cooking.”
He looked up at her. “I like it, yeah. Why?”
She leaned back in the chair, trying to take the easy, no-big-deal approach. “I think you like it more than you let on. Plus, you’re a great cook, Flynn.”
“Thanks. Like I said, I dabble and I can whip up some things, but it’s not like it’s my career. That’s your career.”
“Very true. I was wondering, though, if you wouldn’t want to learn . . . more.”
He frowned. “More what?”
“More about cooking. Especially as it relates to Ninety-Two. I realize you like to eat and you’re very involved in Ninety-Two’s menu, but wouldn’t it be fun when you’re in town and not at practice if you, let’s say, stepped into the kitchen at Ninety-Two and did some dabbling now and then?”