There was nothing Amira enjoyed more than writing, and admittedly traveling. And there was nothing she abhorred more than cooking. As much as she liked her food, it seemed like the task of preparing said food wasn’t on her list of skills.
“What are you burning, princesa?” Xavier asked once he came back from work.
She shot him a glare that said shut up and he immediately raised his hands in surrender.
“I was trying to make you dinner. Forgive me if I’m not the best cook out there,” she puffed her cheeks out much like a kid would.
“I’m flattered, princesa, that you would go so far as to try to kill yourself for me,” he chuckled, “but I’d much rather have you safe and sound, waiting for me in the bedroom, preferably in a nightgown that leaves nothing to the imagination.”
His huskily
