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He followed me around, playing the part of the gallant servant. Completely unaware of the uproar he was causing, he waited patiently while I selected fresh vegetables, fruits, eggs, dairy products, and various other items that we needed––even seemed to take pleasure it. Every time he picked up an item and I inspected it before letting him place it in our cart, he smirked. Twice, I had to put something back and explain where the bruise was, or that it wasn’t ripe enough.
“What’s wrong with this peach?” He held up said fruit.
“It’ll be days before it’s ripe enough to eat. And it has no scent…here, smell.” I pushed it under his nose, and his eyes danced with mischief.
“I know where to find a peach that smells real good,” he murmured in a low, sexy voice. Smiling, I tried to push him away but he held me steady for a quick kiss.
“We’d better go before you cause a stampede,” I suggested, a lazy smile on my lips. A happy sigh rose up my throat as I laced my fingers together around his neck. His brow furrowed in confusion.
“A stampede?”
I motioned for him to look around and stifled a laugh. Every pair of female eyes in the store was trained on him.
Once back in the apartment, the day only got better. I cooked us a hearty breakfast, starting with my signature omelet. Brown, free-range eggs, ripe cherry tomatoes, fresh basil, fresh mozzarella cheese, a dash of freshly grated Parmigiano cheese, a pinch of sea salt, and a nice, fat pat of butter on the skillet. I toasted a brioche for myself, and roasted baby russet potatoes drizzled with olive oil and rosemary for him. We sat side by side at the counter to eat.
He lifted my leg and draped it over his lap, caressing it as he ate. “Damn, you’re a good cook, woman.” A moan of satisfaction followed every time he took a bite.
“Don’t you think you’re overdoing it a bit?”
His eyes grew sulky… scheming. “I’m ‘bout to show you how grateful I am for this meal.”
Shrieking, I tried to evade his playful grab, but he caught me easily, kissed me soundly, and proceeded to make love to me on every available surface of the apartment.
“I’m going to get hard every time I walk in the door now,” he said on the drive back to the estate.
I met his happy, sparkling gaze and smiled. I love you, I thought––words I could never say out loud.
“Poor baby, you’ll just have to grin and bear it.”
He shook his head slowly. “Darlin’,” he drawled, reaching over to tuck his hand in between my knees, “you’re the one who’s going to have to bear it.” Then he unleashed one of his megawatt smiles. “But I’ll make damn sure you’re grinnin’.”
* * *
It took a week for me to come down from the residual high of those two fairytale days at the apartment. I was blending his unsavory protein drink when Isabelle stalked into the kitchen. She eyeballed me with a suspicious look on her face. Annoyed with her scrutiny, I turned off the blender and returned a blank stare.
“I think it’s funny how he always asks for you, even though you two supposedly hate each other. Funny how I haven’t seen any evidence of that legendary hatred for weeks now. What were the two of you doing in the woods that day, anyway?” Her cold eyes narrowed.
“Maybe he appreciates the fact that I don’t push a pair of big, fat breasts in his face any chance I get. Maybe he finds it refreshing when I don’t bat my eyelashes, pant and moan, and generally make a fool of myself every time the man takes a breath.”
I completely ignored her last question and prayed she wouldn’t notice. I knew I shouldn’t be snippy with her, that any show of emotion would say too much, but I couldn’t help myself. I had to endure watching her bend over to serve him breakfast and practically fall into his lap on three separate occasions! She was becoming more and more brazen, while he responded with a small polite smile and carried on as if nothing awkward had occurred. I don’t even think he noticed.
A number of the employees had remarked on his change of mood lately. I feigned complete ignorance whenever they mentioned it. Poor old Betty almost fell over in shock two mornings ago when she passed him in the kitchen, and he stopped to inquired about her husband’s health.
As she stalked out of the kitchen, Isabelle spat out, “Some of us aren’t frigid.”
By the time I reached the gym, Yvette had cornered him into a private conversation. I was greeted by one raised eyebrow. “Vera, my drink please,” he said in a tortured voice.
I bit the inside of my cheek to stifle a grin. Yvette’s dark head whipped around, her sculpted face dropping at the sight of me. I couldn’t help but feel some sympathy for her. I knew how irresistible he was––maybe better than anyone
