Page 51 of Her Big Bad Wolf

Much to my surprise, he already had dinner going. The delicious sent of fresh bread and garlic filled the house as I knocked and then let myself in.

Maybe I shouldn’t have done that, but it just felt so right.

“Who’s there?” he barked.

“It’s just me,” I responded. “Don’t shoot,” I added at the last minute, earning a chuckle from him.

“In the kitchen.”

“I can smell that. I guess you don’t want these pizzas then.”

He turned and frowned. “You brought us dinner?”

“I guess I should have asked first. What’s all this?”

“It’s nothing. I just whipped up some fresh garlic bread and a salad. The pasta is still drying so I hadn’t started cooking it yet. It can wait until tomorrow and we’ll have pizza tonight. Thanks.”

He was oddly relaxed and pleasant.

“Are you okay?” I asked him.

“Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Where are the boys?”

“In the basement.”

I glared at him and crossed my arms over my chest.

“You left them locked up down there?”

“No. Or at least I left the stairs down. They just haven’t come up.”

He turned to look at me and his eyes dropped. It was then that I realized I’d pushed my breasts up and put them on full display with my stance.

My body heated as he stared unabashedly.

“Wait, did you say the pasta was drying? What does that mean?”

He pointed over to a pasta rack filled with fresh pasta.

“You made that? From scratch?”

“Of course.”

“Okay . . .”

“What? You don’t make your own pasta?”

“Never. I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

He sighed and squeezed his temple like just the thought of that was giving him a headache.

“I can take the pizza home with me if you don’t want it.”

“No. It’s fine. I like pizza.”

I didn’t want to admit to him that I practically lived on the stuff.