The Billionaire's Daddy Test

She parked her car near the front of the house on the circular drive. Adam waited for her on the steps of the elaborate front door, his hands in the pockets of dark slacks. Her breath hitched. A charcoal silk shirt hugged arms rippling with muscle and his silver-gray eyes met hers through the car window. Before she knew it, he was approaching and opening the car door for her. His scent wafted up, clean and subtly citrus.

“Hello, Mia.” His deep voice penetrated her ears.

She took a breath to calm her nerves. “Hi.”

“How are you?” he asked.

“I’m all healed up thanks to you.”

“Good to hear. I’ve been looking forward to the meal you promised.” He stretched his hand out to her and she took it. Enveloped in his warmth, she stepped out of the car.

“I hope I didn’t overstate my talents.”

His gaze flowed over her dress first and then sought the depth of her eyes. “I don’t think you did.” A second floated by. “You look very nice.”

“Thank you.”

He spied the grocery bag on the passenger seat and without pause lifted it out. “Ready?”

She gulped. “Yes.”

He walked alongside her, slowing his gait to match hers. As they climbed wide marble steps, he reached for the door and pushed it open for her. Manners he had. Another plus for Adam Chase. “After you,” he said, and once again she stepped inside his mansion.

“I still can’t get over this home, Adam. The bat cave is one thing, but the rest of this house is equally mind-blowing. I bet it was a dream of yours from early on, just like your gallery garage.”

“Maybe it was.”

He was definitely the king of ambiguity. Adam, guarded and private, never gave much away about himself. Already he was fighting her inquiries.

“I’ve got wine ready on the veranda, if you’d like a drink before you start cooking.”

“We.”

“Pardon me?”

“You’re going to help me, Adam.” Maybe she could get him to open up while chopping vegetables and mincing meat.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I thought I’d just watch.”

“That’s no fun.” She smiled. “You’ll enjoy the meal more knowing you’ve participated.”

“Okay,” he said, nodding his head. “I’ll try. But I’m warning you, I’ve never been too good in the kitchen.”

“If you can design a house like this, you can sauté veggies. I’m sure of it.”

He chuckled and his entire face brightened. Good to see. She followed him into the kitchen, where he set her bag down on an island counter nearly bigger than the entire kitchen in her apartment. Oh, it would be a thrill cooking in here.

“So what’s the dish called?”

“Tagliatelle Bolognese.”

“Impressive.”

“It’s delicious. Unless you’re a vegetarian. Then you might have issues.”

“You know I’m not.”

She did know that much. They’d shared a meal together. “Well, since the sauce needs simmering for an hour or two, maybe we’ll have our wine after we get the sauce going.”

“Sounds like a plan. What should I do?”

She scanned his pristine clothing. “For one, take your shirt off.”

A smile twitched at his lips. “Okay.”

He reached for the top button on his shirt. After unfastening it, he unbuttoned the next and the next. Mia’s throat went dry as his shirt gaped open, exposing a finely bronzed column of skin. She hadn’t forgotten what he looked like without a shirt. Just three days ago he’d strode out of the sea, soaking wet, taking confident strides to come to her aid.

“Why am I doing this?” he asked finally. He was down to the fourth button.

Her gaze dipped again and she stared at his chest. “Because, uh, the sauce splatters sometimes. I wouldn’t want you to ruin your nice shirt.”

“And why aren’t you doing the same? Taking off that beautiful dress?”

Her breath hitched. He was flirting, in a dangerous way. “Because,” she said, digging into her bag and grabbing her protection. “I brought an apron.”

She snapped her wrist and the apron unfolded. It was an over-the-head, tie-at-the-waist apron with tiny flowers that didn’t clash with her coral dress. She put it on and tied the straps behind her back. “There. Why don’t you change into a T-shirt or something?”

He nodded. “I’ll be right back.”

By the time Adam returned, she had all the ingredients in place. He wore a dark T-shirt now, with white lettering that spelled out Catalina Island. “Better?”

The muscles in his arms nearly popped out of the shirt. “Uh-huh.”

“What now?” he asked.

“Would you mind cutting up the onions, celery and garlic?”

“Sure.”

He grabbed a knife from a drawer and began with the onions. While he was chopping away, she slivered pieces of pork and pancetta. “I’ll need a frying pan,” she said. Her gaze flew to the dozens of drawers and cabinets lining the walls. She’d gotten lucky; the chopping blocks and knives were on the countertop.

“Here, let me.” Adam reached for a wide cabinet in front of her and grazed the tops of her thighs with his forearm as he opened the lower door. She froze for a second as a hot flurry swept through her lower parts. It was an accidental touch, but oh how her body had reacted. His fingertips simply touched the drawer loaded with shiny pots and pans and it slid open automatically. “There you go.”

She stood, astonished. “I’ve never seen anything like that. You have a bat cave kitchen, too.”

“It’s automated, that’s all. No pulling or yanking required.”

“I think I’m in heaven.” How wistful she sounded, her voice breathy.