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“Why not?”
“Thought you wanted me to go?”
“Not until after you’ve done my laundry. But then I think I might need you to do some polishing. I have this knob…”
Her cheeks go bright red as the innuendo hits home, and I chuckle.
“Get your mind out of the gutter, Ms Harding. It’s an old antique brass doorknob that is looking a bit tarnished.”
“Of course,” she splutters and runs from the room to my disappointment.
However, a few moments later, she returns with a plate and sits at the head of the table on the other side.
“We might need a loudspeaker to have a conversation,” I call out and kick the chair to my right out. “Closer, so I don’t have to shout?”
Seeing her grit her teeth, she marches over and slams her plate down before she sits stiffly and tucks in, probably so she doesn’t have to say anything. Not that I can blame her. I am as lost for words as she is. There is nothing I can say about myself that doesn’t risk me losing everything.
“This is good,” I end up saying after a few bites.
“Good? It’s fucking the best roast dinner you’ll ever eat.”
“Modest as well. Your traits are stacking up, Ms Harding.”
She glares at me from those forest green eyes, dying to tell me to fuck off. I hope she does. I want to see it. I need her to.
“Say what’s on your mind,” I whisper.
Averting her gaze back to her dinner, she says nothing.
Getting lost in the gorgeous food, we eat away in silence, which isn’t as awkward as I expected it to be. She finishes before me and sits back with a wicked gleam in her eyes. “So, where is this knob you want me to polish?”
Grinning, I say, “I’ll show it to you after you’ve cleaned up, run the dishwasher and done my laundry.”
“Are you sure this isn’t an excuse to keep me here? Do you secretly like me, Gideon?”
“I not-so-secretly like your cooking. Based on this performance, you may stay.”
“Don’t expect this every night.”
“That’s disappointing.”
She smiles. “There is a entire world of dishes I can cook that will be just as tasty. By the time I’m done with you in six months, you will want me to stay indefinitely.”
“Is that an option?”
“Maybe.” She rises and clears the plates away while I contemplate that. My takeaway from that comment is that Sophia doesn’t actually plan on coming back. She has well and truly left me and made sure that her replacement is not only someone who can take care of this house but me as well.
I’ll never admit it to her, but she chose well, and I can see the next six months being filled with banter and challenges that I’m not too sure I want to avoid. Every protocol in the book says to stay away from her, but how can I when I’m drawn to her in ways I’ve only ever read about? It’s impossible.
“I have a phone call to make,” I say as she shoves the door open with her backside due to her full hands. “Find me when dessert is ready.”
She nods but doesn’t bite. I was hoping she would say she was dessert, but for all the five minutes I’ve known her, I know it will take a lot more work than a few flirty comments to get her in my bed.
But I will.
The Don doesn’t back down from obstacles in his path, but more importantly, neither does Gideon Hawthorne. Isla Harding will be mine, and there isn’t a damn thing she can do about it.
14
