“I’d like to learn at least how to make a few dishes. You’re mine, honey,” she said softly, pressing a kiss on his belly. “You take care of me however you need to, but know that I’m going to take care of you my way—the way I need to. You have to give me that. That includes in the kitchen and in our bed.”

“Siena. Woman, you’re killing me.” Because it was true. The absolute truth.

She lifted her head again, chin back against his abs, her green eyes moving over his face. “Can you do that, Elijah? Let me have this. Let me have all of you.” She stretched her body over his, sat up, straddling him. She leaned into him, kissing the hollow of his throat as her hands swept over his chest. She trailed kisses down the middle of his chest to his belly button.

“That means talking to me when you’re angry or upset. Giving me that guidance so I can give you whatever you need.” Her gaze jumped back to his face. “Can you give that to me?”

His heart nearly stopped in his chest. She sat astride him, her sex pressed to his. Her body was straight, breasts jutting toward him, full and enticing. His. Her narrow rib cage and small tucked-in waist emphasized the curve of her hips. All his. Her expression was soft. Tender even. Soft like her skin and her lush curves.

“I can do that, mi vida,” he agreed. He could barely choke the words out around the lump in his throat.

She was killing him and she didn’t even know it. She was peeling away the man he’d been and letting out the one he wanted to be—for her. He knew she was wrapped so tight around his heart there was no escaping. He’d do anything to keep her. He didn’t dare show that to the rest of the world. He was going to have to walk a very thin line to keep her safe.

She pressed another kiss to his belly, slid her hand up his chest and shifted off of him. “I’ll go take a hot bath and then join you in the kitchen for my first cooking lesson.”

“Wear that long skirt of yours for me. The one that has all the ruffles falling to the floor.” He loved that skirt on her. She embodied feminine. From the first time he’d ever met Siena, she had loved girlie things. She wasn’t a jeans kind of girl. She owned them and wore them, but she definitely preferred skirts.

She smiled at him. Soft. Her expression taking his breath, her eyes teasing. “You can wonder whether or not I’m wearing panties under it while you’re cooking for me.”