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Although usually Carrie was incredibly laidback, unless it involved a shoe sale. Maybe there was something to her concern. Now that Gayle thought about it, she was acting out of character. She normally took forever to make important decisions, preferring to thoroughly research all the aspects of whatever she was deciding. She should have spent hours debating the pros and cons of having sex with Rikard, instead of just opening her legs and melting beneath his touch.
And letting him fist her! Never mind that it had been the most mind-blowing experience ever. The point is, she hadn’t even kissed him yet. She’d jumped right in to the kinky sex, with no thought other than satisfying the raging need churning within her. That definitely wasn’t like her.
The sizzling stopped, and she heard the rapid strike of a knife against a cutting board. Then Rikard carried two plates to the table.
“Take your seat,” he prompted.
She blushed, realizing she was still in his chair. Hanging her purse over her chair back, she switched seats.
He set her plate down on her charger, then put down his own plate and sat. She’d guessed correctly. A slab of tuna steak, coated in red, brown, black and white spices, rested on a colorful bed of sliced cucumbers and radishes. The tuna was sliced in ten narrow pieces, each one shading from gray through pink to a hint of red, then back to gray. A golden brown sauce was drizzled decoratively back and forth across the entire plate.
Gayle closed her eyes and inhaled the sharp aroma. Her eyes watered, and she blinked rapidly.
“Does this have a lot of pepper in it?”
“Wasabi.”
“Pardon me?”
“Wasabi paste. It’s Japanese. And very strong.
Really opens up the sinuses.” He smiled. “If hot foods aren’t to your taste, just avoid the sauce. But you ordered chai at the café, so I figured you’d like it.”
A warm glow suffused her. He’d paid attention to what she’d ordered at the café, and used that to decide what kind of lunch she’d like. He really meant it when he’d said he wanted to care and cosset any woman who became his submissive.
Carefully, she separated one of the slices of tuna. Feeling his eyes upon her, she lifted the fork up and slid the fish into her mouth.
Flavors burst to life on her tongue. The sauce held a hint of acidity—soy sauce or vinegar—and heat, which must be the wasabi. But the tuna itself was seasoned with warm spices like cinnamon and ginger, and the unexpected taste of licorice, as well as the more prosaic salt, pepper, onion and garlic.
Gayle groaned. “Oh God, that’s good.”
“Try the vegetables.”
The radishes and cucumbers were crisp and crunchy, perfect counterpoints to the sharp sauce. “Fabulous.”
Rikard relaxed and picked up his own fork. “I hope you’ll have room for dessert.”
She gulped and swallowed her mouthful of tuna and cucumber. “There’s more?”
When she’d fantasized about him serving a three-course meal on her body, it had been just a fantasy. She hadn’t seriously expected such a lavish lunch.
“Of course. But if you’d prefer, I can show you the rest of the house first, then we can come back for dessert later.”
“After I’ve worked up more of an appetite?” she teased.
He laughed. “I’ll show you the playroom. Then you can decide if you’d like to work up an appetite or not.”
His molten gaze scorched the skin of her neck and chest, her nipples tingling and tightening as his attention slipped lower. Her pulse beat, slow and heavy between her thighs.
“I want to play,” she whispered.
Chapter Four
Rikard smiled at Gayle’s admission. “We can play after lunch. But we’re supposed to be learning about each other. Tell me about some of the productions you’ve been in.”
He listened attentively, asking pointed and intelligent questions, as she described her theatrical background. She’d had lead roles in a slate of standard musicals—Annie Get Your Gun, Oklahoma!, Fiddler on the Roof, My Fair Lady,and Camelot—as well as innovative and experimental works like Merrily We Roll Along, which started at the end and went backwards to the beginning, and archy and mehitabel, the story of Don Marquis’ literary cockroach and the cat who befriended him.
Rikard didn’t seem to care all that much about the staging or dance details, although he did listen politely. But when she described the songs, he came alive.
