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33
Liam
"You’re either feeding me or fucking me." She’s perched on the counter next to me as I chop the vegetables. After that discussion in my study, I brought her back to the bedroom. We showered and changed, separately. And only because I knew if I pulled her into the shower with me, we wouldn’t leave the bedroom for the rest of the day; which was fine by me, but after that mini breakdown in the study, I wanted a chance to get to know her better. Asking her what was on her mind was only going to cause her to shut up further. So I had to change tactics.
If you can’t get what you want the direct way, you have to employ cunning; perhaps, even be underhanded in how you go about it, which I’m not above.
I jumped into the shower, then walked to the kitchen to start preparing a late lunch. It took another forty-five minutes for her to join me. By which time, she seemed more put together. Her features were more composed, her gaze calmer. She’d changed into a simple dress that fell below her knees. It was a deceptively simple get up, but one which highlighted her figure. I asked her to open the wine, and she offered me a glass. She’d offered to help, and I waved her off.
Now, I take a sip of the red wine and glance down at her.
"Are you complaining?"
"Nah." She reaches over and picks up a slice of pepper. "I admit, I’m not a great cook. I mean, I cook, on occasion, but given a choice, I’ll call out for the food I need."
"Where’s the fun in that?" I slide the vegetables into the salad bowl, then get started on the dressing. The lasagna I’d prepared is already in the oven.
"You think cooking is fun?"
I hear the note of incredulity in her voice and chuckle.
"It’s relaxing. Keeps me focused, so I’m thinking of something other than work."
"You actually take a break from building your empire?"
"Even Darth Vader needs to, on occasion, recharge."
"A-n-d a pop culture reference. Careful, or I’ll think you’re almost human." She snickers.
"Only where you’re concerned."
In the silence that follows, I glance at her. She’s looking into her wine glass, her forehead furrowed.
"Why do you get uncomfortable when I talk about my feelings for you?" I murmur.
"You don’t have feelings for me," she says and tries to laugh, but the attempt is feeble.
"You know I do, but you prefer not to acknowledge it."
"Assuming that’s the case…” she tips up her chin. "Is that a problem?"
I peruse her features. "So that’s how it feels to be on the receiving end of not having your feelings reciprocated, huh?"
She shakes her head. "Don’t, Liam. Don’t be so—"
"Sensitive?"
"I was going for histrionic, but I’ll settle for sensitive. It’s not a look that suits you."
I place the knife down on the counter, then turn to stand between her legs. "I know when we first met I came across as authoritative—"
"Which you still do."
"And dominant—"
"Which you still are."
"And I won’t apologize for that."
