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“Oh.” The idea warmed him in a surprising way, that she’d want to prepare something for him. He couldn’t remember the last time someone not on his payroll had made a home-cooked meal for him. Even growing up, meals were always cooked by staff. “Well, I’d like that.”
The smile that crossed her face brightened the whole room. “Good. You sit down then, and we can work out the stuff for the trip while I get things prepared. I’m going for simple since I’m starved and don’t have the patience to wait for anything slow-cooked.”
“Simple sounds great.” He sat down on one of the stools at the island and pointed out where everything was as she set up her prep area.
Once she had the tools she needed and started chopping some of the vegetables for the pasta dish she was making, she got right down to business. “I know you want to talk about negotiating limits and such. But I don’t think we need to spend a lot of time on that. I’m not a novice, so I know what those checklists look like. My main hard limit is that I’m not into verbal humiliation. I’ve been called enough names in my life. I don’t want my lover doing it. Also, I don’t want to be shared.”
He frowned. “I would never do that, Kelsey. That’s not my style.”
She expertly sliced through an onion, her movements sure and efficient. “Good.”
“How do you feel about pain play?” he asked, fascinated as she scooped the diced onion to the side and ran the knife through a pile of mushrooms with delicate precision.
Something flickered across her features. Fear? But she quickly covered it. “I can’t handle canes, single-tailed whips, knife play, or face slapping. And nothing that would require me to take something stronger than aspirin the next day. I try to stay away from medications.”
He nodded. He suspected there was much more behind those limits than she was letting on. The medication one was a pretty obvious tell—she was running from a drug dealer after all. But the expression that had crossed her face at the mention of pain play had a cold feeling gripping his gut. He wanted to ask her more about it, but promised himself he wouldn’t push her anymore tonight. “Fine. Any other hard limits?”
“No. And I’m on the pill and have my medical reports with me. I also got yours this week. So if you want to skip condoms, I’m okay with that.”
He steepled his fingers in front of him, considering her. He didn’t go without condoms. Ever. He trusted that Kelsey was telling the truth about her birth control, but he couldn’t take even the slightest risk that she wasn’t. He’d seen how pregnancy could be used as a weapon, especially when one person was from a certain lot in life and the other wasn’t. The thought was ugly, but he wasn’t going to let the wildly enticing thought of being inside Kelsey bare make him stupid. “I prefer to use condoms regardless.”
She glanced up at him, her gaze knowing and a little wry. She shrugged. “No problem. The safe words at The Ranch are yellow for a pause and a check-in and Texas for everything to stop. Are you okay with me using those?”
“Whatever is easiest for you to remember.” He couldn’t help but notice how she’d taken control of the negotiation. What had happened tonight had obviously sent her back to her comfort zone of calling the shots. He let it slide. For now.
She gathered all the veggies in a bowl and brought them over to the stove where she heated a pan and drizzled some olive oil in it. “So let’s get to the important stuff. Do I need a fake name? Like are people going to expect me to have some recognizable well-to-do family name?”
He frowned. “Not an awful idea. We have to use your real passport, but no one at the retreat should have to see that. How about we use Kelsey Adams? It’s common enough to blend in and easy to remember.”
“All right. I can work with that. So how did we meet?”
“Through mutual friends.” He watched her there, looking so at home by the stove, her movements efficient, second nature, and came up with an off-the-cuff backstory. “You were looking for an investor for a restaurant you want to open.”
She peeked over her shoulder. “Why would I have come to you for that?”
“I do some venture capitalist stuff on the side, invest in local startups on occasion. Or help businesses expand like I did with Jace’s store. I’m a silent partner in that now.”
“Wow, that must be fun to do.”
“What do you mean?”
“Giving someone money to help their dream business get up and running. It’s got to feel like being a fairy godmother or something.”
He smirked, amused by the notion. “You make it sound quite romantic, but it’s not an emotional decision. It’s simply business. If I believe something will make money, it’s a good use of my funds.”
“I want a bakery.”
“Hmm?” he said, dragging the cutting board to his side of the island and taking it upon himself to slice the French baguette she’d bought.
“Let’s make the story that I wanted to open a bakery. If I get to create a faux life, I may as well use my real pie-in-the-sky goals to fill it.”
“You want a bakery?”
She tossed some minced garlic into the sizzling oil. “I love to cook anything and everything, but my first love is pastry.”
“Then a bakery you shall have,” he said resolutely. “We can say that you’ve put those plans on hold for now since you want to refine your natural skills by going to culinary school.”
She gave a quick nod of agreement. “How long have we been seeing each other?”
