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“Hi again,” I say, trying to ignore the heated look in his eyes as they slide over my naked body. I’m comfortable with nudity, but something about the way Alex stares at me makes me want to blush like a virgin. “Is that what I think it is?”
He raises his eyebrows. “What do you think it is?”
“Breakfast in bed?” I venture, smiling.
“It may be,” he concedes, one corner of his mouth tilting up. He’s placed the tray in the middle of the bed, and he now lifts the lid from one of the dishes, exposing a fluffy omelet with a side of toasted bread and sliced cucumber.
“Wow, that looks awesome,” I say with appreciation, inhaling the appetizing aroma of freshly cooked eggs. Climbing back onto the bed, I rearrange the blankets so that I’m partially covered. My breasts are still mostly exposed, but I don’t want to seem like a prude by pulling up the sheets to my chin. It’s not as if he didn’t see—and explore—every inch of my body last night.
“It tastes even better,” he promises, moving the plate toward me. “Go ahead, try it.”
I balance the plate on my lap. Grabbing a fork from the tray, I spear a piece of omelet and bring it to my mouth. The rich flavor of eggs, cheese, and grilled tomato explodes on my tongue. “Oh, that’s so good. Did you make it?”
He shakes his head, pulling another plate toward himself. “I have a housekeeper who’s also a wonderful cook. You can meet her later this morning.”
“Please thank her for me in the meantime,” I say between bites. “This is the best breakfast I’ve had in years.”
He smiles, looking pleased. “It’s all vegetarian. I asked Marusya to make sure there was no meat anywhere near your omelet. Here, try it with the cucumber and the bread. It goes really well like that.”
Eggs with a fresh cucumber? Why not? I bite into the crisp vegetable and follow it up with another forkful of omelet and a piece of bread. He didn’t lie. The flavors mesh well together, the refreshing taste of the cucumber complementing the richness of the eggs and the hearty taste of the rye bread.
We eat in companionable silence, enjoying the food. I can’t remember the last time I’ve been so content. The sex was out-of-this-world amazing, and now he’s feeding me breakfast in bed. If he’s representative of Russian men, I’ve been missing out all these years.
But no. He’s unique. For one thing, I’ve never been so affected by anyone. It would’ve been surprising if last night had been anything but good, given the strength of our attraction.
“How old are you?” I ask, studying him with curiosity as I place my empty plate back on the tray. I still can’t determine his age. His skin is smooth and taut, yet there’s a certain world-weary look in his eyes that makes me think he’s older.
“Thirty-six,” he replies promptly, seemingly amused at my question. “You?”
“Twenty-five,” I answer. Smiling, I add, “I didn’t know men over thirty-five could do that.”
“Do what?”
“You know”—I wave toward his groin—“have sex so frequently in one night.”
He grins and stares pointedly at my breasts. “Men over thirty-five can do all kinds of things with the right incentive.”
I laugh. “The right incentive being boobs in the vicinity?”
“No, Katyusha,” he says softly, his grin fading. “The right incentive being someone as beautiful and sexy as you.”
“Oh, stop it,” I say, rolling my eyes. Now he’s going overboard. “You’ll make me blush.”
“Why?” He tilts his head to the side. “Don’t you know you’re beautiful?”
Beautiful? I’ve never thought of myself that way. Reasonably attractive, sure. Pretty, maybe. Tony sometimes called me cute. But beautiful? That’s a word applied to glamorous supermodels and actresses, and I fit into neither of those categories. Still, I can’t help the warm feeling that spreads through me at his words.
“Why, thank you,” I say, smiling. “But you don’t have to flatter me, you know. You already got me into bed.”
He looks at me intently, his eyes startlingly blue in the bright morning light. “And I’d very much like to keep you there.”
I grin, trying to ignore the heat washing over my body. “After last night, you couldn’t kick me out if you tried. I came more in a few hours with you than I have in the last few months.”
“Oh?” He looks intrigued.
I shrug, already regretting that I’ve brought up the subject. “My ex and I, our sex life wasn’t great.”
That should’ve been a clue from the beginning. Although I enjoyed spending time with Tony, we just didn’t have sexual chemistry. At times, he seemed downright disinterested in lovemaking. I made excuses for him—he was tired from working long hours, he didn’t have a strong sex drive, and so on—but the truth was much simpler. We were wrong for each other.
