Page 118 of The Best Thing He Never Wanted

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By the time they had the moussaka assembled and ready for the oven, the kitchen looked as though they’d used every bowl and utensil Bea owned. Blane surveyed the damage while she slid the dish onto the middle shelf.

“You sure this is worth it?”

She straightened and closed the oven door. “You’ll be very sorry you said that when you’re eating it.”

“I’m already sorry. Mostly because I’m gonna be the one washing all this.”

She turned slowly. “Excuse me?”

He looked at the counter, then back at her. “You cooked.”

“We cooked.”

“You supervised.”

Her mouth dropped open, and he laughed.

“You are unbelievable.”

“Pretty sure you’ve told me that before.”

“Yes, but apparently I need to keep telling you until it sinks in.”

She came toward him with a dish towel in her hand, and he caught her wrist before she could swat him with it.

“Careful.”

“Or what?”

He smiled down at her. “You really want to find out?”

Something changed in her expression. He knew that look now.

Her gaze dropped to his mouth, then lifted again. “Maybe I do.”

He took the dish towel from her hand and tossed it onto the counter.

“Moussaka’s got a while.”

“Exactly.”

He laughed softly and drew her against him.

“Always got an answer, haven’t you?”

“Usually.”

“Yeah. I like that about you.”

Her hands slid up his chest, and the teasing look faded from her face as she leaned into him. He kissed her slowly. There was no urgency in it—there was no need. He liked kissing her just for the sake of kissing her, liked the way she relaxed against him after the first few seconds and the way her fingers found the back of his neck as though they’d always known the way there.

When she smiled against his mouth, he pulled back a fraction. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“That’s bullshit.”