I shake my head. “That sounds gelatinous and disgusting. And also, how First-World sounding of you, having a personal chef made it so you didn’t have to learn. How did you ever impress a woman with a fancy dinner?”
He shrugged. “Takeout staged to look like I went through the effort and cooked it, when in truth I warmed it up in the oven so that the place would smell like I had been slaving all day for the meal.”
My jaw drops and I stare at him. “What the hell did you do once you dated a while and they learned you couldn’t make more than microwave quiche and canned soup?”
A smirk pulls at his lips. “They never had a chance to find out. I never dated much, just slept around a lot. Some girls I would date for a few weeks if there was a family event I wanted to take them to, but none of them lasted past that.”
Wow, he’s more of a player than I thought he was. I frown. “I haven’t seen you with a woman hanging off your arm in a while. At least you haven’t come to any of the parties with someone.”
Instantly his brown eyes look away from me and he turns his attention to the living room. Striding into it, he leaves me behind. “The bookshelf is over here. It looks like there’s enough material here to get us through the next week or longer, even if we read one or more a day.”
I stare at him. Well, I think I struck a nerve. I’ve never seen him try to change the subject like that.
I’ll drop it for now. I still want to know why he hasn’t dated anyone for a while when it’s clear that he used to play the field. What changed? Maybe he’s being more selective because he wants to find a woman he can settle down with? He is thirty-three, I bet his need to pass on his genes is setting in, and he doesn’t want to sow his oats with just anyone.
I stare at the books, a lot of them I’ve read, but it’s been a while, and reading them with him might be fun. I see a couple of bodice rippers as well. I arch an eyebrow and pull out one of them. I’m surprised to see it here. Wouldn’t it just be easier to stock a safe house with porn mags if that’s what they’re going for?
It looks like something from the seventies or something. The books my mother used to read and my father had no idea what they were about. I didn’t either until I picked one up to try it out. I suddenly saw my mother in a whole other light and quickly chewed through her collection without her ever knowing I had touched them in the first place.
“What’s that one? I don’t think I’ve ever read it.” Cason takes the book from me before I can stop him.
My embarrassment from before comes flooding back. Why didn’t I think before I picked it up? I knew what it was on sight. Thoughts of him reading it or any of the smutty ones with his deep voice sends a shiver down my spine and my clit begging for me to touch it. I don’t know how I’ve made it this long in front of him with how horny I feel. I’m so glad he can’t tell. If women got apparent erections like guys do, we’d be in so much trouble.
He raises a brow as he flips it over to find a woman barely clad in anything with her back pressed against a Fabio-looking man. It probably is Fabio with how old the pages look. He shrugs a shoulder. “I’m game to read about naughty pirates if you are.”
Fucking hell, he has no idea what he’s doing to me. He might as well take a stake and drive it through my heart right now. Because listening to him read something like this, as campy as it might seem at first, would be torture. Because purple prose or no purple prose sex is still sex and he of all people would be reading it aloud.
I don’t think my clit could take that. Especially since I know he doesn’t want me, and I would have no way to let that tension out.
He laughs and I glance over to him to find that he’s opened the book. “His sword stood at attention for the maiden in front of him?”
I pull the book from his hands and put it back on the shelf.
“Oh, c’mon that sounds hilarious.”
Now it’s my turn to change the subject and veer away from it. I head back to the kitchen. “There’s stuff for sandwiches, I’m sure it’s lunchtime somewhere, and I can take down one of the roasts for tonight. That will be nice. I can make a gravy with the drippings and flour.”
He follows me. “That sounds incredible. I can’t remember the last time I had a good roast.”
At least he isn’t pushing the matter. Maybe asking him to stay here with me for the next two weeks was a bad idea. It’s clear he doesn’t see me the way I want him to.
* * *
The day passes in a blur of us reading to each other, taking turns when our voices get tired. We read most of theHobbitbefore we’re too tired to keep going. I haven’t slept since I woke up from my drug-induced sleep, and he couldn’t have slept well, if at all on that couch.
He yawns as he crouches to put the chain around my ankle. I hoped with me not trying to run all day he would leave it off, but it appears we still have some trust issues to work out. I get it, I guess.
But as he goes to wrap it around my ankle, I pull my leg back and he looks up at me.
Before he can protest, I cut him off. “If you sleep in here with me, you won’t have to chain me up. I’m sure you’re a light sleeper, you would know if I got up from the bed.”
He grimaces. “The couch isn’t that comfortable, but the floor sounds awful, Jo.”
I shake my head. “I’m not suggesting you sleep on the floor. The bed is big enough for the both of us, plus you would have the blanket and the washed comforter to keep you warm. We’ll keep to our sides, it will be fine. You don’t have to worry, I won’t touch you or anything, and I don’t kick in my sleep.”
Cason looks like he’s in a battle with himself. “I don’t know.”
I cock my head to the side. “Sleeping on that ratty couch sounds better than sleeping in a warm bed? Or you don’t want to sleep in a bed with me?” I can’t help the hurt tone that comes through my voice. I get it, he doesn’t like me, but would it bethatbad to share a bed with me?
