AllFreeNovel
Share Us
"Yes, why do all this?" I beckon to the beautifully laid out table.
"Because I want to. Because it’s Christmas, and I’m happy to be spending it with you."
I blink. "Oh shit, it’s Christmas."
"Indeed, it is." He moves around to the bucket, places a white linen napkin over his arm, then uses his other to lift the bottle of champagne. Moet et Chandon Brut. He pops the cork, and the cheerful sound thuds through my veins. He pours the fizz into my glass, then his own. He places the bottle back in the bucket, then lifts his glass. "To us."
"Is there an us?" I narrow my gaze.
"You know there is…” More softly, he adds, “For this moment."
Okay, guess I can live with that. And maybe it would be churlish of me to point that out when he’s gone to such lengths to cook a late lunch for the both of us. But if I agree to it without pointing that out, it could raise expectations—for both of us—and that wouldn’t be fair to either of us. It seems even more important to remind the both of us that this—whatever this is between us—is temporary, fleeting, just two people who found themselves double-booked for the holiday in a cottage, with one bed between them. I wince. A-n-d that sounds like a cliché. One of those situations that the hero and heroine of a romance novel find themselves in. And of course, they end up together.
Unlike us. We’re going our separate ways, come the morning. But for now… In this moment… Yeah, there’s an us. And seventeen more orgasms to go. I raise my flute. "Salut."
"Salut." He takes a sip without breaking the connection of our gazes, and it’s as if he’s dipped his tongue back into the cleft between my thighs.
One side of his lips quirks, but he refrains from remarking. Instead, he bends, presses a hard kiss to my mouth, then straightens and stalks off to the counter. He pulls on a pair of oven mitts and slides out a tray from the oven. He walks over and places it in front of me. The tangy scent of spices wafts up from the dish.
"Roast turkey flavored with cumin, ginger, garlic and five spices, with orange and rosemary sprigs," he declares with a flourish. "And that’s only the main course."
"There’s more?" I exclaim, but he’s walking over to the second oven in the corner of the kitchen, which I only now notice. He pulls out another tray then walks over and slides it over.
"Beetroot & red onion tarte Tatin."
"Wait, hold on." I glance between the dishes. A tickling sensation teases my nostrils. My head feels too light for the rest of my body. "You knew that I like spicy food, so you flavored the turkey accordingly; and beetroot is my favorite vegetable, after potatoes, that is, but how did you—" I glance up at him. "How did you—"
"Know it was your second favorite vegetable? Told you, I have my sources. And really, it wasn’t anything to flavor the turkey to your taste."
"Still." I look back at the dishes. I texted the names of my favorite foods to Amelie. But for Hunter to not only know what I like but to also use that knowledge to cook the dishes accordingly? That shows attention to detail. It shows he cares. It shows he’s been paying attention to my likes and dislikes. It shows that he wanted to do something special for me. And I can’t remember the last time someone did anything like this for me.
"Zara, baby, hey!" He places his glass on the table, then hunkers down next to my chair. "Are you crying?"
"Of course, not." I sniff.
"You’re crying."
"It’s just dust in my eyes," I lie without looking at him.
"Hey, Fire, don’t cry, please." He notches his knuckles under my chin and turns it, so I have no choice but to hold his gaze.
"I still can’t believe you cooked all of this."
"I told you, I love to cook."
"And I was fast asleep. I didn’t even help you." More tears run down my cheeks, and he wipes them away with his thumb.
"I looked in on you a few times, but you were so adorable with your eyes closed and burrowed under the covers, I didn’t have the heart to wake you up."
"I don’t even have a gift for you."
"You’re here. That’s my gift, Fire."
"A-n-d you also know the right thing to say." I throw up my hands. "You can’t be this perfect. You can’t."
He leans back on his haunches. "So, you’re upset because I’m perfect?"
"It’s not fair. I’m trying to resist you, and you go and do all of these things that make it impossible to resist you."
