Help prep dinner

You cross the kitchen floor, the soft thud of your boots on the hardwood drawing Lauren’s eyes back up from the cutting board. Instead of heading back out toward the lobby, you reach for a clean linen towel hanging from the island rack and step right into her personal space.

“I think I’ll stay right here,” you say, your voice dropping to a low, warm register. “The grounds can wait. Dinner prep looks like it needs an extra set of hands.”

Lauren watches you approach, her lips curling into a knowing, amused line. She doesn’t step back as you close the distance, leaving only a few inches of warm air between your chest and the front of her linen apron. “Oh, really? Since when are you so eager to dice yellow squash, Mark?”

“Since the view in here became a lot more interesting than the lobby,” you reply smoothly. You reach around her waist, your forearm brushing lightly against her hip, to grab a handful of fresh rosemary from the wooden prep bowl behind her. You hold the herbs for a moment, letting the sweet, pine-like aroma drift between you, but your eyes stay locked on hers. “Besides, all this talk about our new guests shedding their clothes got me thinking.”

She tilts her head, her gaze shifting from your hands back up to your face, a playful spark entering her hazel eyes. “Thinking about what?”

“Thinking that Elena and Chloe might have the right idea,” you murmur, leaning in just close enough that she can feel the warmth of your breath against her cheek. You run a slow, deliberate thumb along the side of her neck, just beneath her hairline where her hair is tied up. “The valley is completely private, after all. And honestly... I wouldn’t mind it one bit if I got to watch my wife walk around the resort entirely naked all day.”

A deep, genuine flush blooms across Lauren’s cheeks, extending down to the collar of her shirt. She lets out a soft, breathy laugh, her fingers tightening slightly around the handle of her chef’s knife. “Mark... we are on the clock. Anyone could walk through those swinging doors.”

“Let them walk in,” you tease softly, your thumb tracing the line of her jawline, holding her gaze until the nervous flutter in her chest settles into a shared, heavy heat. “It’s our resort. We set the rules.”

Lauren bites her lower lip, looking down at the vegetables for a split second before her confidence catches up to the mood you’ve created. She sets her knife down on the board with a soft clack, turning her body fully to face you. She reaches out, her fingers curling around the lapels of your shirt, pulling you just a fraction closer.

“Is that right?” she whispers, her voice carrying a sultry, defiant edge that matches your own. “Well, as tempting as that sounds, I think the local health inspector might have a few things to say about me prepping a three-course dinner completely bare.”

She leans up on her toes, her lips brushing tantalizingly close to your earlobe. “But... if you stay here and help me finish this prep ahead of schedule, the kitchen will be closed for the afternoon. And maybe I can be persuaded to test out that new resort dress code up in our private quarters before the dinner service starts.”

She steps back with a quiet, triumphant smirk, picking up her knife again and nudging a pile of sliced zucchini toward you. “Now, wash your hands and start on the garlic, resort host.”