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Dima was sifting through a stack of papers his admin had greeted him with at the airport. He dictated instructions into his phone for some and signed others.
He placed one in the flat document box he was using for them all as he finished with them. “I know what I like.”
“What you like is high-end and high-quality.”
“I am glad you approve.” He dropped the last sheaf into the box and flipped the lid shut, then turned to face her. “I believe art is an extension of not only the creator, but the person who seeks to possess it.”
“I agree. You have excellent taste.”
He gave her one of those heated looks that sent her nerve endings zinging. “I would say your presence here is a testament to that.”
“You’re very complimentary.”
“Honest. Jenna, I am honest. You are a unique and intriguing woman.”
“I’m just me.”
“I like you.”
“I’ve noticed.” She smiled. “I like you too.”
“Not when I’m stopping you doing what you think is right.”
That was Dima, a man confident enough in himself he would never shy away from talking about the hard stuff.
“Not so much then, no.”
“Do you want to eat dinner out, or have something delivered?” he asked, clearly uninterested in belaboring the point.
Jenna kicked off her shoes, feeling a certain satisfaction in mussing up his perfect living space just that little bit, and headed into his state-of-the-art kitchen. “Do you have anything to cook?”
“I doubt it. My housekeeper keeps my favorite beverages and sandwich makings stocked.”
“So much for being domesticated. You have all this—” she indicated the kitchen a chef would envy “—and you only use it for snacks and drinks.”
“Yes.” Dima didn’t seem embarrassed by the admission either.
“Did you cook for yourself during university and graduate school?”
“I did, but I have no time to do so now and no one to cook for besides myself. Most of my meals are taken up with business meetings and are either catered or at restaurants.”
“You’re awfully fit for all that eating out.”
“I work out every day, and I use farm-to-table caterers.”
“What about lovers?”
“What about them?”
“Do you at least cook for them? Or let them cook for you?” Jenna loved cooking to relax, following along with her favorite celebrity chefs as best she could.
“I don’t do lovers. Therefore I do not cook for them.”
He wasn’t a monk. So, what was he saying?
“Then what am I? A friend with benefits,” she said, answering her own question.
But he shook his head. “We will call it by its name. This is not cute, casual sex together when no one else is available.”
