Liv followed him into his kitchen and leaned on the counter and watched him root around in the fridge and cupboards, noting how awesome his ass looked in his jeans. He emerged triumphantly holding a package of pasta and some salmon.
“How about I make a creamy pasta dish?” he said.
“Really?” she asked him.
“Yep. I’ve got cream, garlic, olive oil, a bottle of white wine from a client that I’ll never f*****g drink, ‘cause I’m a beer guy… I think we’re good.”
“Sounds great, Dallas.”
“OK,” he said. “Go sit down and relax. I’ve got this.”
“I can help…”
He shook his dark head. “No, go sit. You’ve had a hell of a night and morning. I have some red wine too – same client, if you can believe it – so I’ll bring you a glass, OK? Unless you like your white wine unchilled?”
She stared at him, a
