Chapter 16 #2
“Now for the final touch,” I whisper conspiratorially. She leans in, curiosity lighting up her eyes. With a theatrical flourish, I sprinkle a generous amount of cheese over the lasagna. “Voilà!” I declare, grinning as I empty the entire package.
She laughs, a hint of incredulity in her voice. “Isn’t that a bit much?”
Meeting her gaze, I proclaim, dead serious, “There is no such thing as too much cheese.”
I slide the lasagna into the oven, and Jamie announces, “Baking underway. Enjoy your culinary creation in approximately twenty-five minutes.”
“Thank you, Jamie. If cooking with AI assistance always goes this smoothly, I might just do it more often.” She smiles at me, one of her real ones.
Don’t think I haven’t noticed the fake smiles you give out at work, Amelia.
I can’t help but respond with a bit of playful arrogance, “It’s not the AI assistance. It’s the Grey assistance. Without me, you’d still be picking up ricotta off your floor.”
“Well, feel free to come and cook me dinner anytime,” she fires back with a smirk, her tone teasing but not without a spark of challenge.
I would cook dinner for you every day if I could have you as mine afterward.
Not answering her little challenge, since I’m afraid of letting too much of what I really think shine through, I lean against the counter next to her. Crossing my arms, observing her, I notice the shift in her demeanor—the slight retreat into shyness.
It’s intriguing.
She’s sassy, and she has fire, but only if provoked. Left to her own devices, she second-guesses herself, and doubt creeps in.
Amelia is a complex blend of intelligence, vulnerability, beauty, and sass—a combination that keeps drawing me in deeper.
“Want to sit down?” she offers casually, gesturing to the chairs nearby. “The cook doesn’t have to tidy up, or so I’ve heard.”
I chuckle, grabbing a cloth to wipe down the counter behind her. “Shut up. I thought this was teamwork.”
“I mean it, I can—” she starts, but before she can finish, I place the cloth down, step closer, and lift her by the hips to sit her on the counter.
“You mean you can sit and watch? Sure.” I chuckle, keeping my hands on her hips.
This brings us eye to eye, and I’m met with her wide, surprised gaze. A soft gasp escapes her lips.
Fuck.
If circumstances were different, if it weren’t for the eyes I know are watching us and the professional boundaries I’m toeing, I’d let myself take a chance.
I’d pull her close, our faces just inches apart, my hands firm but gentle.
“Relax, you’re doing great,” I’d assure her, allowing the moment to unfold naturally, dictated only by the chemistry crackling between us.
I bet she would do as she’s told, being the good girl she is.
Amelia’s cheeks flush, and she averts her gaze.
No.
“Look at me,” I growl out, and her gaze snaps back to mine. “Part your legs,” I demand, unable to stay away a second longer.
She hesitates for a moment, her cheeks flushing, but then her thighs slowly spread apart. I step closer, my body pressing against hers, and I can feel the warmth radiating from between her thighs, drawing me in like a magnet.
I reach for her glasses, my fingers brushing against her skin as I pull them off and set them down carefully next to her. My hand then comes back up but lingers, tracing the curve of her cheekbone, my thumb grazing her skin. She shivers, her eyes fluttering closed once more.
I let my hand glide into her hair, my fingers tangling in the silky strands as I grip it at the base of her head.
Pulling gently but firmly so she has to lean her head back, I give myself access to her neck.
Her pulse pounds against my lips as I kiss my way up to her jawline, my mouth devouring her skin.
Her chest heaves with heavy breaths as I linger with my lips over hers. Searching her eyes, I ensure she wants this. But all I find is desire, her pupils dilating with need. I can see the hunger in her eyes, the desperation which only fuels my own.
I want this as much as you do, baby.
My lips brush against hers, a gentle touch that sends shivers down my spine. She opens her mouth, inviting me in, and I take advantage, my tongue sweeping in to claim hers.
“You taste like fucking ricotta,” I groan out, my mouth devouring hers, my hands now cupping her face, holding her in place.
She moans into my mouth, her body melting into mine, so I wrap my arms around her, pulling her even closer. I can feel her heart pounding against mine, her pulse racing.
Her fingers dig into my back, holding me close as if she’s afraid to let me go.
I’m not going anywhere.
Kissing her harder, deeper, my mouth devours hers with a fierce possessiveness.
I let her come up for a breath and place my forehead against hers.
But this isn’t enough.
I need more.
With my breath hot against her neck, I lean in, my mouth nuzzling her skin, and take in a deep whiff of her scent. It’s a blend as comforting and warm as a cup of London Fog tea, with notes of Earl Grey, steamed milk, rich vanilla, and a subtle hint of lavender…
“Grey?” Amelia’s voice quivers, pulling me from the fantasy.
Or was it more of a daydream?
Fuck.
My face is too close to her neck, where I’ve just inhaled her.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Frozen, I realize what I was doing—holding her by the hips and breathing her in like some sort of… creep.
I snap back, creating space between us, hoping she won’t see my obvious boner.
And Misha and Oliver won’t either.
My hands linger on her hips for a moment too long before I finally let go. She adjusts her glasses, cheeks flushed a deep red, and I notice the lenses have fogged up slightly, a telltale sign of just how flustered she is. Clearly rattled, she avoids my gaze.
I’m a fucking idiot.
“Are you… are you all right?” she asks, her voice still shaking.
Am I all right?
“Sorry,” I mutter, stepping back another step.
The space suddenly feels too small, and I start cleaning up the kitchen again, my actions mechanical. I’ll be lucky if Oliver doesn’t take a swing at me when I get home. Although it would be deserved.
She’s Oliver’s girl. Oliver is in love with her.
Amelia’s voice pulls me back from the edge of my spiraling thoughts. “Are you always this tidy?” she asks, a tentative note in her tone as if reaching for normalcy after the awkward moment as she hops off the counter.
Relieved, I lean into the safer topic. “Living with Oliver will do that to you,” I reply, feeling steadier now. “He likes things clean, and… well, I know you appreciate that, given how neat your place is.”
Yes, let’s talk about Oliver.
He’s the better man.
She nods, seemingly ready to move past the discomfort too. “A clean space helps me think better,” she admits, glancing around her immaculately kept kitchen.
“Same for Oliver. He’s pretty good about keeping our place in shape and us in line with chores.” I snicker. “He helps us a lot and makes it easier to focus on work… and everything else. He’s amazing.”
God, I want to sell him to her, not sound like I’m the one in love with him. But she has to know that he is clearly the right person for her. They have so much in common, and I should support that, not complicate it.
“And you? Besides cooking, any other hidden talents?” Amelia asks, her tone now steadier.
I chuckle, glad to return to our playful banter. “A few here and there. But let’s keep some mystery for now.” Eager to shift the focus away from me, I suggest, “How about some music?”
“Sure,” she responds with a casual shrug. “Jamie, could you play some music for us?”
The opening notes of “Invisible Beauty” by Frank Dang fill the apartment, and I mentally kick myself.
I had programmed Jamie to include some of my personal favorite tracks that weren’t in her usual playlists—Frank Dang included.
This song, in particular, reminds me of her.
I notice her body pause, her attention captured entirely by the music. “This is beautiful,” she murmurs, her voice a soft echo of the melody.
As she looks up, her blue eyes meeting mine, the words linger at the tip of my tongue, almost escaping,
You are beautiful.
“Told you I could introduce you to music you never knew you needed.”
She just smirks at that, and we finish cleaning up in companionable silence. I’m careful to maintain a respectful distance, hyperaware of the boundaries I almost crossed earlier.
“Your culinary efforts are about to be tested. Twenty-five minutes are over,” Jamie chimes in, and I’m thankful for the distraction.
Tonight is a fucking mess.
As I pull the lasagna from the oven, the aromatic scent of melted cheese and herbs fills the kitchen. Amelia glances at the steaming dish, then at me. “So, are you staying to eat, or do you need to leave?” she asks with a hopeful undertone.
Do you want me here? Or do you just not want to be alone?
“I’ll stay,” I reply, setting the dish on the trivet. “I need to make sure we didn’t mess it up.”
We let the lasagna sit for a few minutes, allowing it to cool enough to eat. Walking over to her wall of windows, I gaze out, the gentle evening breeze wafting through the slightly open window.
Amelia joins me. “Is your apartment on this side too?”
“Yes, we’re just four floors up from yours,” I respond, glancing at the cityscape below. “You’ll have to come up to watch a movie soon.”
With all of us, of course, not just her cuddling into me on the couch.
“Planet of the Apes two?” She grins mischievously at me.
“Ugh, no, it came out in 2014, and nobody wants to see that. But we could watch Metropolis or 2001: A Space Odyssey.”
“Those are super old films as well, right?” she teases, poking fun at my taste.
“Vintage Sci-Fi,” I correct her, crossing my arms over my chest.
“Why are you into that?” she probes, leaning against the window’s glass with her shoulder.
“I don’t know. I watched them with my grandpa, and… what people did with what they had back then is so much more impressive than what they do now with all the tech.”