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He’s silent and my heart thuds.
“Is this beef from your grandfather’s cattle?” I ask him, changing the subject quickly. His silence is scaring me, and maybe I’ve already completely messed up. Maybe it’s too late to even explain or apologize.
“No, these steaks are from my cattle. My grandfather passed away about ten years ago, and I inherited his ranches. I also bought all the dairy farms that I originally sourced my milk and ice cream from. Why, where do you get your dairy products from?”
I smile. At least he’s talking to me.
“Milton’s Farm in New Jersey. We used to go there for ice cream cones when I was a kid. It’s a small family operation.”
“That’s good, Whit. Supporting small businesses is what makes this country work. If people like you hadn’t supported my grandfather when he started out, I wouldn’t be in the position I’m in.”
I look down.
“I’m sorry you lost him. Your grandfather, I mean. It sounds like you were close.”
He nods.
“We were and I miss him all the time, but having him in my life made me who I am in so many ways. He helped form my character, and without him, my business wouldn’t exist. Which takes me back to my original point. I don’t want to argue about me giving you money for SugarTime. We’ve already discussed how who you know plays a part in your success. But even more important, if you don’t have what it takes for someone to believe in you, even knowing the right people won’t help. I believe in you, Whitney. I want to make that point clear.”
I feel my eyes sting with tears and a single one manages to escape. Quickly shifting our plates to the side, Peter slides beside me and brushes the salty droplet from my cheek with his thumb.
“Why are you crying?” he asks gently.
“The only people who have ever believed in me the way you do are my parents. That’s so overwhelming and I’m immensely grateful, Peter,” I whisper.
His lips claim mine in a soul-destroying kiss, and suddenly all of the bricks around my heart shatter. Somehow, he’s penetrated my defenses and there’s no longer a wall keeping me safe.
14
Whitney
I stretch up to kiss Peter in appreciation and affection. I’m falling for this man and I don’t want to stop it. His lips are tender and taste like red wine. His thumb is still stroking my cheek where the single tear laid its trail, and he reaches for my waist to pull me closer, intensifying the force between our meeting lips and tongues.
He lays me back on our picnic blanket and props himself on his elbow beside me.
“I’ve missed your company so much this past week, Whit. I can’t get you out of my head.”
I blush.
“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you either. I’ve had an unusually large number of sex dreams this week too,” I confess shyly.
“Oh really?” he asks, one brow quirking. He unbuttons the first velvet fastener on my dress and traces his finger across my cleavage. “Did I appear in any of these dreams?”
I giggle.
“You were the star of every single one.”
“What did I do to you in these night musings?”
“What didn’t you do would be an easier question to answer.”
He chuckles, although it sounds a bit raspy.
“Did I do this to your neck?” he asks and then proceeds to place hot, languid kisses from my ear to the top of my bosom.
“Hmm, do it again. It’s hard for me to remember,” I pretend.
He leans over me and repeats the same thing on the other side, this time gently caressing my arm all the way up to my shoulder and landing on another button. I sigh contentedly; I’ve been aching for his touch all week.
“I think something like that may have occurred,” I acknowledge while continuing our playful banter.
“I have to confess that I picked this dress for you just so I could slowly unbutton it to tease you. Kind of like during our virtual picnic. I enjoyed telling you what to do that night, but it was fucking unbearable not to be able to put my hands on you.”
By now, four buttons on the bodice of my dress are undone and Peter can see that I have a surprise waiting under the dress for him. I ordered some lingerie while he was away and one of the items just happens to be a black velvet corset with a plunging neckline.
“Well well well, Miss Porter, it doesn’t seem like you’re playing fair. There’s another layer under this dress.”
I reach for the buttons of my dress to show off my sexy lingerie but Peter pushes my hand away.
“Don’t make me tie those hands up, Whitney.”
“I don’t know. I enjoyed it when dream Peter tied me up,” I say in a coy voice.
