Page 104 of Someone Exactly Like Me (Wounded Hearts 1)
I open the cabinet and see it on a shelf above me. Stretching onto my tiptoes, I reach up as high as possible, but can’t touch it with my fingers. As I bring down my arm, he’s at my back, extending his arm easily above me, and taking it off the shelf. A shiver runs up my spine.
He sets it in the sink and dumps in the pot of noodles and boiling water. Steam billows into the air and he ducks his head out of its path. On the counter near the sink, he’s laid out parchment paper. As he goes back to stirring the sauce and gyrating his sexy body, I wait for the steam to settle and lay out the noodles on the paper.
With the last noodle laid out, we’re ready to begin our lasagna assembly. He places a deep dish in front me on the counter then puts the pot of sauce on one side and the bowl of cheese mixture on the other. Then he tucks himself behind me. Every time he’s this close to me, my body heats.
“I’ll do the sauce and cheese layers, you do the noodles.”
“Okay,” I say, trying to ignore how flustered I am.
He spreads a layer of sauce on the bottom of the dish. Methodically, we build the layers, our arms grazing past each other several times. I can’t stop the goose bumps from trailing up my arms at the touch of his skin on mine. He loads on the final layer of sauce then reaches for the parmesan cheese. The stale smell of smoke enters my nose as his torso presses into me. A few sprinkles of cheese and it’s ready for the oven.
I move out of the way and he takes the dish, putting it into the oven. Turning my back to the counter, I suck off the tiny bits of sauce that got on my fingers, fold my arms, and watch him. I love that he cooks, not that it matters. When he rises from putting the dish in the oven, he stands in front of me, resting his arms above me on the cabinet. My inhale quavers and I release my arms from across my chest, laying them on the counter as I look up into his dark, seductive eyes framed by his thick, bent brows.
“What should we do while we wait?” he asks, glancing from my eyes to my lips.
The memory of our kiss shoots to the front of my mind. I remind myself that this is a business trip, as my eyes drop to his full lips and my pulse pounds in my head.Breathe.
I tear my gaze away from him and look at the mess on the counter. “We, uh, should probably get this cleaned up.”
“Mhm.” He nods slightly, but doesn’t move. After a few breaths, he takes a deep inhale then moves back from me. “I’ll have a cigarette first.”
He grabs his pack of cigarettes and goes out to the patio. Blowing an exhale, I start cleaning up. I’m not sure how much longer I can resist his subtle seductions.
When he comes back in, he puts the garlic bread into the oven and helps me finish cleaning up the kitchen. I wash the dishes and he gets a towel and dries them.
“When you’re not busy flying around the world, making films and singing in concerts, what do you do for fun?”
“I paint.”
“You paint?”
“Yes. You seem surprised.”
“Not surprised, impressed. You’re very talented. What do you paint?”
“It’s abstract. Beautiful monsters.”
“Beautiful monsters? What does that mean?”
“People are beautiful, but sometimes we also have monsters inside. When I paint, I bring the monster to light,” he says, putting away the last bowl. “Many of the paintings in my house are done by me.”
“Really?” I’ve wondered about his choice of wall decor.
For me, it’s dark, ominous, sinister. Empty faces atop distorted bodies, debauched features of a face entangled with devil-horns and hair that drips like blood. Hearing this explanation, I’m starting to understand the artwork now.
“Yes. Some are gifts and a few I purchased. But most are my creation.”
I wander through the living room with a renewed perspective, taking my time as I examine the pieces. Though they disturb me, they also reveal his pain, which makes me hurt for him. Once I’ve circled the room, I sit next to him on the sofa.
“Was Ana one of your beautiful monsters?”
“She was. She haunted me every day. She was a reminder to me that I’m a monster.” He pauses. “Now, because of you…” He takes my hand, encapsulating it in both of his. “My chest is lighter and she no longer haunts me.”
Eyes locked on mine, he raises my hand to his lips and kisses it.
The timer chimes on the oven.
“Will you paint with me tonight?” he asks, releasing my hand and getting up from the sofa.
