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Some still had doubt in their eyes as they walked away. After pulling myself together and moving from the curb, I headed back home to change. I crawled the way back home to shower and dress. Could I show up for work as rattled as I was…maybe not.
I called the principal, told her what’d happened, and she told me to stay home and take the day off and that the interim counselor could take over if needed. When I hung up, I hesitated to make the next call, but I felt like this would be something John would want to know.
“Ray?” he greeted me, his tone calmer than I had expected. “You called right on time. I need to hear your voice right about now.”
I bit my lip. “Um, John, I have to tell you something. I nearly had an accident today, don’t worry, I’m fine, but I am a bit rattled. I called my principal, and she gave me the time off, so I decided to let you know—”
“Are you home?” John interrupted.
“Yes…”
“Stay there,” he said. “I’m coming to you.”
I knew by now not to tell him not to come. John was the kind of man who, when he got something stuck in his head, ran with it. “I’m…thank you.”
When I sat the phone down, I looked around. The place wasn’t dirty or messy; it just felt tiny, too tiny for John. I’d much rather be at his ranch, in his spacious living room, or riding down one of his forest trails.
Fifteen minutes later, I didn’t expect John to appear on my doorstep with a bag of food under his arm and a basket dangling from the other. “What—”
“Are you goin’ to let me in?” his brow ticked up.
I stepped aside, and he came in, went to my kitchen, and placed the items down, and I followed him after closing the door behind us. The moment he was free of them, he grasped me, lifted me to the table, and kissed me, but it was not an ordinary kiss.
It was like being hit by lightning as every cell in my body seemed to sizzle with need. His deeper, hungrier kisses, seasoned with fierce possessiveness, sent sweetness singing through my blood. My awareness of anything vanished—the room, the almost-accident, the cold wood under my bottom.
Instinctively, I followed his lead, letting him in deeper, meeting his tongue with mine, kissing, eating, and sucking with equal measure. A rugged sound tore from his chest, and the kiss grew even more scorching. He pierced my mouth with a stabbing force that reminded me of how masterful he was inside me.
Fire spread out over my skin, the tips of my breasts tightening, itching for contact, but then his kiss changed from tempting and teasing me into a playful, tender kiss that led to nips and kisses.
He pulled away while I squirmed. “So…bed?”
John snorted through his nose. “Not yet. I just wanted to convince myself that you were okay.”
All my addled brain heard was,not yet.
My gaze dropped to the baskets of food. “You went shopping?”
“More like raided my fridge and cupboards,” he replied while moving to unpack. I saw boxes of macaroni, plastic containers of potato salad, wedges, rice, and a tub of ice cream that he instantly placed in the freezer before handing me a bag of chocolate chip cookies.
“Cookies?” I smiled, taking them. “Why, thank you. I like chocolate.”
“Most women do,” he grinned while pulling out two packets of raw steak. “Now, let me whip up dinner.”
“You’re going to cook for me?” I gaped. “Let me rephrase; you’re going to cook steak for me?”
“Why’re you surprised?” he asked, looking into my cupboard and pulling out seasoning.
“Um, because you’re a billionaire with a talented chef at home,” I replied. “If I were in your shoes, cooking would be the last thing I’d be concerned about.”
“You’re right about Ella,” he replied. “But remember, I wasn’t always rich and could afford a chef. I had to juggle things for a while before better pasture came along. And I grew up basically having to care for myself.”
“Ah.” I popped open the bag of cookies. “How do you like your steak?”
“Rare to medium rare. Like my daddy used to say, bust the horns off ‘em, wipe its rear end, and run it through a brush fire.” John's lazy drawl had me shivering. “But I think you’re a medium to well-done kind of girl.”
“Just medium,” I replied, plucking out a cookie. “Well done, tastes like rubber.”
I watched him move around my dinky kitchen with ease, seasoning the steak with salt and pepper, garlic, rosemary, a dash of this, a splatter of that, something else I didn’t catch into a bowl—because I was watching John work—and soon the steaks were on the skillet.
