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removed other items from the bags. He made a pile of them on the end of the table. The small long box from the jeweler, the larger square box from the lingerie store, and the medium-sized black wrapped box from the fetish shop. That last one made me shiver and look away.
    I had for sure slipped into another dimension.
    “You’re nervous,” he noted when he returned to flip the prawns. The entire kitchen smelled heavenly.
    “Uh, yeah.”
    “And pissed.”
    I didn’t comment.
    “Good. I’d be worried if you weren’t nervous and pissed.”
    He knew I was nervous and pissed, had made me that way on purpose, and he was pleased? All I had were more questions. No answers. I picked up the glass of wine and took another drink. Not a sip. A drink.
    My crazy-as-hell boss didn’t speak again while he finished cooking. He topped off my wineglass with another of his famous smirks at one point, and he flipped prawns, checked potatoes, and grabbed the bag of steamed green beans from the microwave to rest on the counter.
    I couldn’t grasp a single thought. Nothing in my brain worked. So I watched. Apparently that was what he wanted anyway. So I did it.
    When all three parts of the meal were ready, Mr. Alexander filled two plates and set them on the table. He returned to the island to grab our glasses and carried them over. And then he returned for me. If he hadn’t, there was a good chance I would have simply continued to stare at him in confusion.
    The next thing I knew, I was whisked into the air and stood on my feet. He had a way of collecting me with his hands at my waist and manhandling me into whatever position he wanted. Now was no exception.
    Taking my arm, he led me to the table, pulled out a chair, and pressed gently on my shoulders to encourage me to sit. He scooted the seat in and dropped a cloth napkin in my lap. “Eat,” he commanded as he took his own seat on the adjacent side of the table.
    Damn him and his demands. And damn this meal for smelling so good that I couldn’t deny him the satisfaction of eating his food. I was starving, and it looked like a meal I would have ordered at the finest five-star restaurant in town.
    If only I could get my fingers to work properly and my throat to swallow.
    Mr. Alexander took a bite. “Mmm. That’s good. You should try it.” He smiled at me again.
    I swear my panties dampened. I had been fighting my physical reaction to him since I’d arrived, but sitting this close to him, having consumed most of a glass of wine on an empty stomach, there was no way to avoid his allure. It was magnetic. I wondered if all women felt it or just me.
    When my boss of two weeks twisted in my direction, speared a prawn off my plate with his fork and held it up to my lips, I almost melted. I opened my mouth and let the delicate meat slide inside. And then I moaned. It was as good as it smelled and looked. The spices were perfect. The buttery flavor around the outside made my mouth water for more.
    Mr. Alexander turned my fork and held it out for me to take. “There. Now, eat.”
    I did as he said, tasting the potatoes next, knowing they would be heavenly, which they were. And then a green bean, steamed to perfection and seasoned just as well. Before I knew it, I’d enjoyed every morsel on my plate and was reaching for my wine again.
    Mr. Alexander had finished already. He sat back now, leaning against the back of his chair, watching me, his wineglass in one hand, his other hand resting on the edge of the table. “You enjoy your food,” he commented.
    I nodded. “Thank you. You’re a fantastic cook.”
    “Thank you, Amelia. I’m glad you finally relaxed enough to eat it.”
    Every time he called me Amelia, warmth crept up my body. Nobody called me Amelia. But I had neglected informing Mr. Alexander of this, essentially because he was my boss and who cared what he called me?
    He leaned forward and topped off our wine again. There was very little left in the bottle, which meant I had