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I mutter as I place the cutlets into the pan. When she offers a nod of approval, a wave of relief washes over me, signaling I've passed some unspoken test.
"Also, I've got to say, your home is incredible. What made you go for a lighthouse? Did it come all fixed up, or did you have to put in the work?"
Fiona leans into the fridge to retrieve a bag of spinach from the crisper, and I find myself momentarily distracted, my hungry gaze focused on the contour of her figure—the tapering at her waist giving way to the fuller curve of her voluptuous ass. I ball my hands into fists, pressing my nails into my palms, a physical reminder to keep my distance and respect the moment despite the instinctual pull I feel toward her.
“Oh, it wasn't always this nice,” she explains, closing the fridge. “This place was a fixer-upper; it took me over a year to get it just right and another six months to decorate it exactly as I wanted. The first few months, I slept on a mattress upstairs and had to record my episodes at my friend Gisela's place.”
“That’s your co-host?” I ask, deciding it’s too much of a coincidence for someone to know two Giselas.
"Yes! Although, if you ask her, she'd probably say she's the brains of the operation, and I couldn't do it without her." Fiona laughs while expertly straining fresh lemon juice into the pan. "Gisela does pop in as a co-host now and then, but mainly, she's my research guru. She's actually got her hands full with an online business she runs with her family during the week, so she pitches in with my podcast over the weekends and some evenings when she can. Honestly, I'd love for her to join me on the show more permanently. Trying to keep the audience engaged for an entire hour alone can be a real challenge."
“I understand that. I always fear I'm talking too much or not talking enough. Do the listeners care about small details, or do they just want me to hurry up and tell them who did it? It’s hard to read an audience you don’t interact with. And yet, by your numbers, you’ve managed to know what your followers want. I admire that. It’s not easy reading people. Even in person, I find it almost impossible,” I ramble, unsure if I’m being too obvious or everything I’ve said just went over her head.
She’s not a shy girl. It’s easy to read her enthusiasm or disdain for any topic we bring up, but I have no idea how she feels about me. She’s keeping that hand close to her chest.
"Navigating it can be tricky, but luckily, my audience is primarily women. I've found that if you truly pay attention, women have a way of communicating their needs quite clearly," Fiona muses, her voice carrying a blend of wisdom and warmth. She then battles briefly with a stubborn jar of capers before offering it my way, her gaze fixed on mine as I effortlessly twist it open. "Just like that—you picked up on my cue without missing a beat. I guess women are not that complicated after all. I like to think of myself as an open book." Her lips twitch into a playful grin as she turns back to the stove, each step accentuated by a deliberate sway, leaving a trail of allure in her wake.
I inch forward, reaching out, my heart hopeful she'll accept the gesture. Fiona responds, her fingers delicately finding their way into the warmth of my palm. As our fingers entangle, a connection forms—a silent dialogue I long to interpret. "If I were to explore the pages of your story, what would I read about me?" I ask, drawing her closer with an arm around her waist. Our bodies merge, and the touch of her skin sends an unfamiliar thrill through me. I've experienced love before, and there was even a time when I seriously contemplated proposing to my college sweetheart, believing she was the one. Yet, nobody has ever stirred my heart like this.
“It would say we met three years ago at the Chicago conference.” Fiona leans her forehead against my chest and sighs. “I was just starting out and an ardent follower of yours. When I heard you were there, I approached you, but you brushed me off like I was a crazed fan. I think I’ve been angry with you ever since.” She lifts her gaze and whispers a sweet apology. “Sorry. I should have told you sooner. I didn’t know I could carry a grudge for so long.”
"I dismissed you?" My head shakes with utter disbelief. "It's hard for me to accept I walked past you and didn’t wrap you in my arms, declaring my eternal love," I confess, the words tumbling out with a hint of levity, likely encouraged by the three glasses of chardonnay I've indulged in since my arrival. "Please accept my sincerest apologies. I must have been out of my mind."
A flush of pink blooms across her beautiful face as she attempts to contain her nervous giggles behind a tight smile. "That's incredibly kind of you to say. But there's no need for such monumental declarations. Your apology is more than enough, and I accept it wholeheartedly." Fiona bounces into a curtsy and then spins around to check on the chicken.
Before she can distance herself, I act swiftly, pulling her back toward me, our bodies aligning with an electrifying closeness that weakens my resolve. She quivers in my embrace as my hands glide over the curve of her lower back, my gaze lingering on the bare skin of her shoulders. The air around us is perfumed with her scent, a heady mix that sends my senses reeling.
Overwhelmed with urgent desire, I’m desperate to pull this sundress over her head and run my tongue over every inch of her supple body. My heart thumps in my chest, racing with love and lust. My blood roars, surging with a wild intensity that won’t be contained. Despite every effort to hold back, my emotions overpower me, and my lips crash into hers in a sweltering kiss that seals my fate.
I may never leave Magnolia Point.
CHAPTER 10
Iclose my eyes, my body trembles, and my mind attempts to burn this moment to memory. Encircled by Adam's strong, sculpted arms, I draw closer, my racing heart pressed tightly against his, syncing with every breath we take. Our lips fuse, refusing to part as our connection grows stronger.
Adam deepens our kiss, and my body heats, tensing as it awakens to the promise of unbridled lust. In his embrace, I feel like time has paused and suspended us in a bubble where the world outside ceases to exist.
“This is shaping up to be the most unforgettable day of my life, little one. Who taught you to kiss like this?” Adam murmurs, his voice heavy with desire as he claims my lips once more.
With each intoxicating exchange, my knees threaten to buckle under the weight of my emotions. The warmth of his breath against my skin sends waves of electric shivers cascading through me, igniting a deep, tingling warmth at my very core.
“Forget I asked. The last thing I want is the image of anyone else kissing you clouding my thoughts. It should only be me.”
The scent of my chicken piccata edging towards being overcooked snaps me back to reality, compelling me to withdraw. Adam's gaze, filled with curiosity at my abrupt retreat, follows my movement until he sees my arm stretch out in a vain attempt to salvage our meal.
With a soft chuckle, Adam gracefully adjusts his stance, allowing him to quickly switch off the stove. “The chicken is done. I’m not,” he quips, his eyes locking with mine, a playful yet sincere declaration lingering in his look.
Adam scoops me up and sets me down on the kitchen island. My thighs part instinctively to accommodate his hips and imposing frame, as my arms find their way around his neck in a tender embrace.
“You mentioned you'd be leaving tomorrow?” A hint of reluctance tints my voice, as I’m torn between the desire to prolong this moment and the fear of losing myself to a fleeting romance that might hold no future.
Adam momentarily draws back, his hands gently grasping my wrists to maintain our closeness, a silent reassurance in his gesture. He shakes his head while his eyes remain locked with mine, brimming with an unspoken question. “Do you want me to leave? I'm here for as long as you need me, little one,” he assures, his voice a soft echo of commitment, challenging the doubts that cloud my mind.
As Adam's words linger in the air, my mind whirls with emotion, and I find myself grappling with pride and fear, desperately searching for the courage to voice the depth of my feelings. “I don't want you to go.” The words slip from my lips in a hushed tone, my breath held tight as if bracing for the world to collapse around me. The vulnerability of laying my heart bare, after shielding it for so long, leaves me trembling, fearing he might shatter it beyond repair.
“I don’t want to leave, Fiona,” he whispers back, his voice a soothing caress that sends shivers down my spine. His breath is warm against my ear as he traces the line of my neck with his tongue, sealing the path with tender kisses that make me want to swoon. "I know I came here on business, but I've stumbled upon something infinitely better. This is something I've never known before." His admission offers a glimmer of hope.
“Do I smell chicken piccata?” The unexpected sound of my front door creaking open sends a jolt through me, and I come to a standstill, heart pounding, as Gisela's voice cascades up from the entrance. “Finally, you're back! I've been trying to reach you for hours! You've probably got your phone on silent, haven't you?” Her voice grows louder, charged with an unmistakable urgency as she ascends the staircase. The distinct slap of her flip-flops against the wrought iron steps announces her approach, cutting through the intimate atmosphere with the sharpness of an unwelcome intrusion.
