Chapter 192
Madison
I followed the sound, my heels clicking against the hardwood floors. I found him standing at the stove, stirring something in a pot. He’d changed from his business suit into dark jeans and a fitted black Henley that showcased the muscles of his back and arms. The casual look suited him almost as
well as his tailored suits.
Alexander turned, his eyes traveling slowly from my face down to my heels and back up again. The intensity of his gaze made my skin warm.
He set the wooden spoon down and approached me, stopping just close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his body. “You look beautiful.”
“Thank you,” I managed, acutely aware of how small the kitchen suddenly felt. “What are you making?”
“Risotto.” He returned to the stove. “And seared scallops.”
I peered over his shoulder at the creamy rice simmering in the pot. The aroma made my mouth water.
“Need any help?” I asked, setting my clutch on the counter.
Alexander gestured toward an unopened bottle of wine. “You could pour us some wine. Glasses are in that cabinet.”
I found two crystal wine glasses and filled them with the pale golden liquid. The label was in French, with a vintage date that made me raise my eyebrows.
“This smells amazing,” I said, handing him a glass.
He took a sip, his eyes never leaving mine. “It’s a 2015 Montrachet. Perfect with seafood.”
I swirled the wine in my glass before taking a small sip. The complex flavors exploded on my tongue; hints of apple, honey, and something I couldn’t quite identify.
“Wow,” I said, genuinely impressed. “I’m used to whatever’s on sale at the corner store.‘
Alexander’s lips curved into a slight smile. “I’ll have to educate your palate.”
“Good luck with that.”
He chuckled, turning back to the risotto. “Can you dice those herbs? The scallops are almost ready.”
I grabbed a knife and chopped the fresh parsley and chives on the cutting board. “So, how often do
you cook?”
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“When I have the time,” he replied, expertly flipping a scallop in another pan. “Which isn’t often.”
“Special occasion tonight?” I asked, sliding the herbs toward him.
His eyes flickered to mine. “Does it need to be?”
The way he said it sent a shiver down my spine. I took another sip of wine to hide my reaction.
Alexander plated the food with the precision of a chef: creamy risotto as the base, perfectly seared scallops arranged on top, a sprinkle of herbs, and a drizzle of some kind of reduction around the edges. It looked like something from a five–star restaurant.
“Dining room or here?” he asked.
“Here is fine,” I said, settling onto one of the high stools at the kitchen island.
He placed a plate in front of me, then sat beside me rather than across. Our knees brushed, and I felt a jolt of electricity at the contact.
I took a bite of the risotto and couldn’t hold back a small moan of pleasure. “This is incredible.”
“I’m glad you approve,” he said, watching me intently.
We ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes, and the only sounds were the clinking of silverware and the soft jazz playing in the background. I was acutely aware of his proximity, the heat of his body just inches from mine.
“So,” I said, breaking the silence. “Any updates on finding Selena?”
Alexander’s expression darkened slightly. “Leo’s following a lead. I’d rather not discuss it tonight.”
“Fair enough.” I took another sip of wine. “What would you like to discuss?”
His eyes traveled slowly down to my lips. “Who says we need to talk at all?”
My heart rate kicked up a notch. “Well, it is dinner. Conversation is customary.”
“Is that what you want? Customary?”
I set down my fork. “What exactly did you have in mind for tonight, Mr. Knight?”
“I think you know.” His hand found my knee under the counter, his touch sending heat spiraling through me.
I held his gaze. “Enlighten me.”
His fingers traced a pattern on my thigh, inching the hem of my dress upward. “I’ve been thinking about you all day. About what I want to do to you.”
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“And what’s that?” My voice came out huskier than I intended.
Instead of answering, he leaned in and captured my lips in a kiss that started gently but quickly turned demanding. His hand moved higher on my thigh, and I gasped against his mouth.
He pulled back slightly. “Finish your dinner.”
I blinked, momentarily disoriented by the abrupt shift. “What?”
“Eat,” he commanded softly. “You’ll need the energy.”
The promise in his words sent a rush of heat through my body. I picked up my fork with slightly trembling fingers and took another bite of risotto, though I could barely taste it now.
Alexander resumed eating, but his hand remained on my thigh, his thumb tracing maddening circles against my skin. Each touch sent electric currents racing up my leg, making it nearly impossible to focus on the food in front of me. I forced myself to take another bite of risotto, but my mind was entirely elsewhere.
“Have you found who posted that article?” I asked, setting my fork down. The question had been burning in my mind since our conversation in his office.
My thoughts drifted to the image of Alexander with Scarlett Reynolds. He’d promised exclusivity, but men like Alexander Knight had options. Beautiful and willing women were always ready to respond to his every request. Our relationship was just business, a contract with benefits. I had no right to feel jealous.
Yet I did. The thought of him with someone else made my stomach twist.
Alexander’s eyes darkened slightly. “We’ll get that information tomorrow. PR is tracking it down.”
He took a sip of wine before continuing. “Media people rarely reveal their sources. They just want gossip and rumors, anything that sells.”
“I guess being famous comes with a price,” I said, watching him over the rim of my glass.
“You have no idea. Every move scrutinized, every conversation potentially recorded. The richer or more famous you are, the bigger target you become.”
“Sounds exhausting.”
“It is.” He leaned closer, his breath warm against my ear. “People assume wealth shields you from problems, but it just creates different ones. More complex ones.”
I shivered as his lips brushed my earlobe. “Like what?”
“Like never knowing if someone wants you or your money.” His voice was low, husky. “Like having
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to question every relationship, every interaction.”
“Not everyone’s after your money, Mr. Knight,” I said, meeting his gaze.
His lips curved into a wicked smile. “No? What are you after then, Madison?”
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Chapter 193
Lucia Morh is a passionate storyteller who brings emotions to life through her words. When she’s not writing, she finds peace nurturing her garden.
