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I stared at him a long time, forgetting all about the people around us. “Okay, I’ll wear your shirt,” I whispered quietly, my voice thick with emotion.
Swiss nodded sharply then bent to kiss me gently on the mouth. “Good,” he murmured.
His eyes went behind me. “What are you fuckers doin’ here?” he asked.
Cody popped a grape into his mouth. “Just got back from a run.”
I had no idea what a ‘run’ was, but I guessed it was some biker task that required the cover of darkness.
“Well, don’t think you’re gonna get a bite of what I make,” Swiss told the men. “I’m cookin’ for my woman and my woman only.”
My woman.
He just said that.
To his badass biker buddies.
I gazed up at him. “You’re going to cook for me?” I asked quietly.
He looked down. “Well, of course. I’m not going to expect you to be barefoot in the kitchen, I’m a feminist.”
Cue stomach jump.
“He’s also a terrible fuckin’ cook,” Cody put in, breaking the gaze between us.
“Him serving you food could actually be legally considered as attempted murder,” Lucas added with a grin.
Swiss glowered at them. “Fuck off,” he growled.
I smiled and patted Swiss’s chest. “I appreciate how progressive you are,” I told him sincerely. “But I’ve cooked for a lot of people and haven’t poisoned one yet. Beyond that, I’m very excited about the stove and would revel in the opportunity to utilize it.”
Swiss blinked at me. “You’re excited about the stove?”
I nodded. “It’s chef’s quality. High-end kitchens use this stove.”
His eyes danced. “Do they now?” he asked in a tone that raised gooseflesh on my skin.
I nodded hesitantly and then looked to the men who were watching us. “If y’all are hungry, I’d be happy to make extra,” I offered.
“Fuck yeah,” Cody said at the same time Swiss grumbled, “Hell fuckin’ no.”
I smirked once more before going up on my tiptoes to kiss Swiss’s nose. A gesture that I didn’t think about, one that was much too intimate, but it was too late to take it back.
“I don’t mind,” I told him, blushing and moving away quickly before I could see his expression.
I figured that badass bikers didn’t like women kissing them on the nose in front of their buddies.
But Swiss proved me wrong by catching hold of my wrist and yanking me back to him. Then he kissed me.
Not on the nose.
On the mouth.
With tongue.
In front of his buddies.
“Appreciate you, baby,” he murmured against my mouth.
