Chapter 241
**Sara**
The path back to the mansion wound through the trees. My legs still felt wobbly, and Tom kept shooting me smug looks whenever I stumbled.
"Stop looking so pleased with yourself," I grumbled, though I couldn't keep the smile off my face.
"Can't help it." He steadied me as I tripped over a root. "You're cute when you're all post-orgasm clumsy."
I swatted his arm. "Just wait until I get my revenge."
"Is that a promise?"
The mansion came into view through the trees, its modern lines contrasting with the wild forest around us. My stomach growled loudly, making us both laugh.
"Food first," Tom declared, pulling me toward the house. "Then revenge."
I followed Tom into the mansion, my legs still a bit shaky from our forest adventure. The cool air conditioning hit my damp skin, making me shiver.
"Cold?"
"Nothing a hot shower wouldn't fix." I wrung out my hair one last time. "But food first. I'm starving after all that exercise."
Tom disappeared into his kitchen, emerging moments later with two pristine white aprons. He tossed one my way. "Strip."
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me." He was already pulling his shirt over his head. "House rule - cooking requires aprons only."
I burst out laughing. "Since when is that a rule?"
"Since right now." His jeans hit the floor, followed by his boxer briefs. He slipped the apron over his head, leaving his back completely exposed. "Your turn."
"You're ridiculous." But I was already peeling off my damp clothes, letting them fall in a heap. The apron fabric felt soft against my skin as I tied it behind my neck.
"Help me with the back?" I turned around, presenting him with the loose strings.
His fingers brushed my lower back as he tied the bow. "Perfect. Though I must say, this view..." His hands skimmed down my bare ass.
I swatted his hands away. "Food first, remember?"
We padded into the kitchen, bare feet slapping against the hardwood floors. I couldn't stop giggling every time I caught sight of Tom's bare backside as he moved around the kitchen island.
"Stop staring at my ass," he called over his shoulder.
"Can't help it. It's right there." I hip-checked him as I reached for the fridge. "Plus, you started this naked cooking thing."
"The best idea I've had all day."
"Second best," I corrected, thinking back to the waterfall.
We moved around each other in the kitchen, the occasional brush of skin against skin sending little shivers down my spine. Tom kept finding excuses to reach around me for things, his chest pressing against my back.
"You know," I said, chopping vegetables, "I'm pretty sure this breaks about fifty health code violations."
"Good thing we're not running a restaurant." He leaned over to steal a piece of carrot, his chin resting on my shoulder.
I turned my head to kiss his cheek. "Keep stealing my vegetables, and we'll never finish cooking."
"I'm helping quality control." He snagged another carrot slice, dancing away before I could smack him with the spatula.
The kitchen was filled with the sizzle of pan-seared chicken and the rich aroma of herbs. Tom worked on the sauce while I finished the vegetables, though half of them seemed to disappear into his mouth rather than the pan.
"That's it." I brandished my knife playfully. "One more stolen carrot, and you're banned from this side of the kitchen."
"But the view's so much better over here." His hand slid down my bare back, making me shiver.
"Focus on your sauce before it burns."
"Yes, chef." He gave me a mock salute, returning to his pan. The muscles in his back flexed as he stirred, and now it was my turn to stare.
I nearly dropped the knife when he bent over to grab a pot from the lower cabinet. "That was intentional."
"I have no idea what you mean." But his smirk said otherwise.
The chicken sizzled as I flipped it, checking for that perfect golden-brown crust. Tom's sauce was reduced nicely, and the wine and herbs filled the kitchen with an intoxicating aroma.
"Pass the thyme?" I asked.
He reached across me, his chest pressing against my back as he grabbed the herb. "Here you go."
"You could've walked around."
"Where's the fun in that?" His lips brushed my ear before he pulled away.
We worked in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the only sounds being the bubbling sauce and the rhythmic chopping of my knife. Then Tom started humming—off-key and completely unconscious of it.
"What song is that supposed to be?"
He paused. "Honestly? No idea. But it seemed appropriate for naked cooking."
I laughed, nearly burning myself on the pan. "There's a naked cooking soundtrack?"
"There is now." He started swaying his hips, still humming that unrecognizable tune.
"You're ridiculous." But I couldn't help joining in, our bare feet sliding across the floor in an impromptu kitchen dance.
The timer dinged, bringing us back to the task at hand. Tom plated the chicken while I arranged the vegetables - what was left of them - in an artistic display.
"See?" He drizzled the sauce with a flourish. "Naked cooking is clearly superior to regular cooking."
I gestured to the splatter of sauce on his apron. "At least we wore these. I'm not sure I'll ever look at your kitchen the same way again."
"Mission accomplished." He pulled me in for a quick kiss. "Now, shall we eat?"
"Only if you promise not to steal food off my plate like you did with those carrots," I said, following him to the dining room.
"No promises." Tom set our plates on the massive wooden table, pulling out my chair with an exaggerated bow. "Madame."
I adjusted my apron as I sat, trying not to think about how ridiculous we must look - two adults in nothing but white aprons having a fancy dinner. "When you invited me for dinner, this isn't quite what I pictured."
"Disappointed?" He settled across from me, his eyes twinkling.
"Hardly." I cut into my chicken, steam rising from the perfectly cooked meat. "Though I do have questions about your usual cooking attire."
"This is a special occasion." He reached for his wine glass, taking a sip. "I don't usually cook naked for just anyone."
"I should hope not." The first bite melted in my mouth. "Oh my god, this is amazing."
"The sauce or my cooking outfit?"
I kicked him under the table. "Both. But mainly the sauce. What's in it?"
"Family secret." He winked and snagged a piece of chicken off my plate when I wasn't looking.
"Hey!" I protested, brandishing my fork like a weapon. "That's it. This means war."
Before he could react, I'd leaned across the table and stolen one of his roasted carrots. "Ha!"
"Now who's the thief?"
"I learned from the best." I popped the carrot in my mouth with a triumphant grin.
We continued our meal between playful food theft attempts and conversation, and the formal dining room was a hilarious contrast to our state of undress. Every time I shifted, the apron strings tickled my bare back, reminding me of our unconventional dinner dress code.
"You have a little sauce..." Tom gestured to the corner of my mouth.
I reached for my napkin, but he was already leaning across the table, his thumb brushing the spot before bringing it to his own lips.
"Got it."
"Show-off." But my cheeks flushed at the intimate gesture.
"You love it." He sat back, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "More wine?"
I nodded, watching as he stood to grab the bottle. The back view was particularly nice.
"Now, who's staring?" He called over his shoulder.
"I'm still not sorry." I held out my glass, letting him refill it. "I have to ask—do you always keep spare aprons around for impromptu naked dinner parties?"
"Only the good ones." He topped off his own glass before sitting back down. "Can't serve a five-star meal in anything less than pristine white cotton."
I nearly choked on my wine. "Of course. How silly of me to think otherwise."
The conversation flowed as easily as the wine, our laughter echoing through the high-ceilinged room. Tom kept finding excuses to brush against me whenever he passed by, sending little shivers down my spine each time.
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