AllFreeNovel
Share Us
‘Then I’ll give you some privacy.’
With seeming reluctance he walked to the door, leaving Carrie with the impression that he didn’t really want to leave her. But that was unlikely, wasn’t it? Because he definitely didn’t want to spend any more time with her than he had to.
But what about his promise to protect her, and that tender caress of her face...?
Her heart tripped at thinking about it again.
However, as her phone rang again, with more insistence, she put those thoughts aside, raised it to her ear and took a deep breath.
Damon retreated to the seclusion of his office and forced himself to remain there and not dwell on the conversation happening upstairs that was technically none of his business. He made himself sit at his desk and go through his emails, respond to the most urgent. To review plans. To sketch.
Even when he heard the gentle patter of her feet descending the stairs, and his body reacted with exhilaration, he made himself stay still, stay seated. To remain distant and detached even if it was only a physical distance, because he’d failed to remain emotionally disconnected.
When his nose detected scents of something mouth-watering being concocted by her talented hands, he battled the compulsion to go to her, to just be near her. Because he couldn’t. Or, more accurately, he shouldn’t. And he certainly shouldn’t want to.
Yet he did, and none of the distractions he’d employed had succeeded in quelling that want, or in dimming his awareness of her being just a few metres away.
When, with a tentative knock, she appeared in his doorway, Damon devoured the sight of her, his hands curled into fists around the sides of his chair because he did not trust himself not to fly from his seat, pin her delicious body against the nearest wall and feast on her.
Despite the trauma of the day, and the strain hugging her eyes, she looked as beautiful as she had first thing that morning. So much had happened in the past ten hours. So much in his own mind had shifted and become uncertain.
‘I’m not disturbing you, am I?’ she asked, when he didn’t immediately speak.
‘No. How did the conversation with your brothers go?’
‘About as unpleasantly as expected.’ She shrugged her shoulders up to her chin. ‘They were furious and they had lots of questions, which was not helped by my telling them that how I spend my time and with whom is not their business. They said I was being disloyal...that you have some vendetta against our father because of...everything.’
Damon stilled, his pulse stalling. ‘I’m sorry it didn’t go well.’
Carrie shook her head, brushing off his concern even though he could see she was troubled. ‘I’ve made some food. I thought you might want to come and eat.’
He definitely wanted to devour her...all of her...very,veryslowly. But since that was the last thing he should do...
‘I’m not all that hungry, but thank you.’
Moving deeper into the study, she stood right on the other side of the desk, which suddenly seemed far too narrow. She was so close that with every breath he was catching the scent of her shampoo—something soft and calming. He had been hit by it earlier, in the bedroom, and once more the scent propelled his mind back to their night together and how, even as he’d half slept, he’d been conscious of that scent, using the arm anchored around her waist to pull her closer, so he could bury his face even more deeply against her fall of dark hair...
‘Damon, my guess is you’ve not eaten since breakfast. If you’re going to work for hours on end, then you need sustenance. So come on... I’m not taking no for an answer. Consider it a thank-you for all you’ve done today.’
‘All right.’ Catching himself smiling at her insistence, he got to his feet and walked in silence with her to the kitchen where the most delicious aromas swirled in the air, tempting his stomach. ‘How many people were you actually cooking for?’ he asked, seeing everything her busy hands had made.
The laugh that escaped her lips was self-conscious, but oh-so-sexy. ‘I know... I went a little overboard. But whenever I feel anxious or stressed I cook,’ she confided. ‘It was my grandmother who started it. When the anxiety attacks were at their worst, she thought if I had something to focus my mind on it would help me take back control of my body. She was right. Measuring out ingredients, working through recipes, all that stirring and kneading... It helped me channel my energy and calm down. And it felt so good I wanted to spend all my time doing it.’
She had plated up their food as she talked, and it was only as she sat down that she looked at Damon’s expression as he took his first mouthful.
‘You don’t like it?’
He swallowed. ‘It’s delicious. I don’t think I’ve ever tasted anything so good, and I’ve eaten in some fairly high-end restaurants.’ He sampled another forkful. ‘Your talents arenotlimited to baking. With food this good you could be running a five-star kitchen.’
‘Restaurant hours are a nightmare. And they wouldn’t fit in very well with caring for a baby.’
‘Is that why you didn’t become a chef? The hours?’ he queried, because he couldn’t see what else had stopped her.
‘Actually, when I first left cookery school I figured my path would take me to a restaurant. And I was actually offered a job as a pastry chef.’
‘What happened?’
The light in her face dimmed. ‘I very quickly learned that I’d only been offered the job because of who my father was.’ Her eyes travelled up to his. ‘The chef wanted to ensure her new restaurant was a success. She thought hiring me would earn the patronage of my father and all his wealthy acquaintances.’
