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“Don’t ever be frightened of me, Blaire,” he says, still holding my head craned back so we’re eye to eye. “I’d never hurt you.”
We stare at each other like this, mere inches apart, his promise lingering in the air. I don’t think he’d ever hurt me but he’s so unpredictable sometimes that it makes me uneasy.
“All right?” he says, his blue eyes flickering back and forth between mine.
I nod, licking my lips. His dazzling gaze follows my tongue, his pupils dilating.
“You like salmon, right?” he says, gently pushing my hair back over my shoulder to fix it in place. “Because I’ve got us some for dinner.”
“Sure,” I say breathlessly, wondering if I just imagined him kissing me.
He reaches into the back seats and grabs the bags. I try to take a few from him but he won’t let me. “I’ve got them.”
“I can manage a few bags, Char-”
He gives me this prompting look, cutting me off, so I climb out of the car, feeling in a bit of a daze.
He did just kiss me, right?
I go in pursuit of the house, my feet crunching against the stony driveway.
“If you don't,” Charlie walks up beside me, “I can make something else.”
I peer up at him. “If I don't, what?”
He laughs with sly amusement—yeah, he did just kiss me, and he knows exactly what he's accomplished by doing that.
“If you don't like salmon, Blaire.”
“Oh. No, honestly, I like salmon.”
His eyes journey down my body, blazing with zeal, and my heart speeds up. It’s so intimate when he looks at me like that.
I pick up the pace to put some distance between us and enter the house, baffled to see the front doors are unlocked. Isn't he worried someone could break in?
Inside, the house smells like lemon and fish and... Is that boiled potatoes?
I head for the kitchen, struck to find the table is already laid, our plates set up side by side. On a huge silver platter, the fish is steaming in the middle of the table, surrounded by an assortment of dishes.
“Who cooked, Charlie?” I also notice a few fancy boxes of chocolate laid out beyond the food.
“I had someone cook for us because we were out.” Wandering in past me, he puts the shopping bags down on the countertops and pulls open the fridge, grabs out a beer, and twists off the lid. He has a deep mouthful, sighing like he's been waiting for that all day long.
“A housekeeper?” I ask, rounding the table to look over everything.
“Something like that.” Charlie crosses the kitchen space and puts his beer down on the table. “Here, let me get you outa your jacket.” He helps me out of my jacket before shrugging out of his own, laying them both over the back of a chair.
I settle at the table. Charlie sits to my right, having another mouthful of beer.
“I got these for you,” he says, and putting down his beer again, he leans over to grab the chocolate boxes. ‘Dark Sugars’ is written on the sides and the lids are clear, so I can see what’s in them. One is full of colorful looking biscuits—or I think they’re biscuits. The other houses small blocks of chocolate, which I can’t wait to scoff. I’ve had a fancy for chocolate ever since he introduced me to it.
The third box... I’m not sure what that is. It doesn’t look like chocolate.
“These are truffles,” Charlie says, apparently reading my confusion. He opens the lid and shows me the contents. “I bought you an assortment of flavors because I didn’t know what you’d like. These ones,” he focuses on the colorful biscuits for a second, “are macaroons. And that,” he shows me the last box, “is the best cocoa chocolate money can buy.”
I don’t really know what to say—I can’t actually believe he’s bought all this for me—so I just smile at him, my heart going a little faster. He smiles back, puts the boxes over there on the table behind the food, and reaches for my plate.
“Was it all right at the salon?” he asks, filling my plate up with fish, vegetables, and new potatoes.
