Free The Waltz by Angelica Chase

hand.
    “So I love your house. When did you get it?”
    “Thanks,” he answered, draining the pasta. “I moved in about three years ago.”
    “And you decorated this place yourself?” Okay, what the hell with the loaded question, Vi? Easy.
    “No, I had help,” he said, shooting a careful glance my way.
    “And that’s my prying quota for the day,” I said, taking a nice gulp of wine.
    “I highly doubt that, Violet,” he said with a grin, mixing the pasta and gesturing for me to sit at his kitchen table.
    He joined me a few minutes later with two full plates of steaming goodness paired with fresh garlic bread. I dug in, absolutely starving from the smells that had tortured me while he was cooking. I took heaping forkfuls into my mouth in clear appreciation of his amazing cooking skills. I moaned, closing my eyes after a few bites. Catching his eyes on me, I turned my head and gave him my best smile, twisting my fork in the air with flair.
    “I’m not sure I like that moan, woman.”
    “And why the hell not?” I asked, offended. “It’s a compliment to your cooking”
    “And it’s an insult to my cock. I’m not so sure you moan as well when you compliment it.”
    “Well, anytime you want to make me moan in your kitchen with your cock, let me know. I’m game. And this food is delicious. Thank you.”
    “I love that you eat like you mean it,” he stated, taking a mouthful of noodles.
    “Not that I need to.” Shit, self-depreciating slip, Vi. Not attractive. Then again, give yourself a break. It's been a while since you’ve dated. You are dating! I went in for a smooth recovery, “But I do love my food and I mean that.”
    “I love the way your body looks. I wouldn’t change a fucking thing.”
    I snapped to and saw that he meant it, falling a little for him right then. I stifled the emotion I was sure was showing in my face. It had been so long since I felt this type of affection, since I was this full, this appreciated, this … happy. I wanted it to last.
    When we finished our dinner, I insisted on cleaning the dishes and he made his way to the couch to watch football. When he saw me enter the living room, he pulled a small pillow from the side of the couch and placed it between his chest and his arm. If he could see my insides, he would see them falling to my feet.
    Who the hell are you, Rhys?
    I had every intention of finding out.

    Twenty extremely boring minutes of football later, I spoke up, perfectly relaxed with my feet snuggled with his on the coffee table he had violated me on hours earlier. It was hard to believe this was the same man.
    “How old are you, Rhys?”
    “Thirty-four.”
    “Where are you from?”
    “Here, born and raised.” He lifted a piece of hair covering my eyes so he could glance down and catch mine. “You?”
    “Thirty-two. Thirty-three on Halloween and born and raised here too.” I snuggled further into him, he seemed to like the affection or faked it well.
    “So before you owned the bar, what did you do?”
    “What I still do. I work a boring ass nine to five installing computer updates for the company I work for.”
    “You have a nine to five?” I sat up, completely thrown.
    “The bar is great income and I could live off of that, but being there day in day out, not so appealing.”
    “I get it.” I laid back down in his arms, resting my chin on his chest. “But you still love it, right?”
    He leaned down and whispered, “If you’re asking if I’ll ever get tired of fucking your pretty pink pussy in a variety of light and dark ways, I’m almost positive the answer is no.”
    I smiled and buried my head in his chest. He cupped my chin, bringing my eyes to his. “Never, ever be afraid to tell me what you want.”
    I was so close to bursting, I simply nodded and put my head back on his chest, making sure he didn’t see the lone happy tear that fell down my cheek. I woke some time later to the weightless feeling of being carried and looked up to see