Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 87522 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87522 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
“All right.”
“I just meant…you said you didn’t want a relationship, but here you are.”
“And…?”
“And…we’ve seen a lot of each other in a short time. Doesn’t that make us…something?”
He rubs his jawline. “It makes you my girlfriend, Skye. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
“Girlfriend?” I shake my head. Then it dawns on me. “You saw the comment on my Instagram post.”
“I did. I’ll ask again. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
“I don’t know what I want, honestly. I only know I want more than a purely sexual arrangement.”
“Which is why I’ve agreed to date you.”
“Then let’s date.”
“Isn’t that what we’re doing right now?”
I look down at my feet. “No. I don’t normally date in bare feet and sweats. Why are you really here, Braden? Because I’m absolutely sure it’s not to eat my leftover beef stew.”
“Do you even have to ask?”
I warm all over. Then I gulp. “Yeah. I have to ask.”
“I’m here to fuck you, Skye.”
My knees wobble. “Then I definitely need to eat.”
He smiles. Almost. “So do I.”
I motion to my small table. “Have a seat. Dinner will be ready in a minute. Can I get you a drink?”
He removes his suit coat, hangs it on the back of a chair, and sits. “Wild Turkey.”
I smile. “I always have that.” I pull the bottle out of a top cupboard, grab a lowball glass, and pour him a double. Then I add one ice cube and hand him the glass.
He takes a sip. “Going to join me?”
“Not tonight, no.” He’s already changed my plans by showing up. Not that I mind, but I want all my faculties tonight. I busy myself dishing up the stew. I stopped at the bakery after work—not to look at erotic cakes, though it crossed my mind—and picked up another baguette. I slice it and set it on a plate. What’s missing? Of course. Water. I pour two glasses and bring everything to the table.
“Dig in,” I say.
He nods, spoons up some stew, blows on it, and then into his mouth it goes.
I wait, holding my breath. My stew is good. Though it’s my mom’s recipe, I’ve made it my own over the years.
“Delicious,” he says.
I let out the breath, nod, and take a bite myself. It is good. Stew is one of those dishes that’s even better as a leftover. The extra time for the herbs and spices to soften and blend makes all the difference. “Bread?”
“Yeah. Thanks.” He takes a hunk. “Do you have any butter?”
“Oh, yeah.” I rise and resist the urge to hit myself in the head. Who forgets butter? I find a stick in the fridge, unwrap it, and place it on my butter dish. “Here you go.”
“Thanks.”
A few minutes pass. Then—
“You’re a good cook, Skye.”
“Thanks.”
“This is the best stew I’ve had in a long time.”
“I’m glad you like it. I wasn’t sure you were a stew kind of guy.”
“Are you kidding? My mother made stew all the time while I was growing up.”
“Right. It’s easy to forget sometimes.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well…” Way to put your foot in your mouth, Skye. “You grew up like I did. You didn’t always have billions.”
“You’re saying stew is a poor man’s meal?”
My cheeks warm. “I don’t know what I’m saying. Forget I said anything.”
“I still enjoy the simple things,” he says. “A walk in the rain, watching the sun rise, a warm bowl of stew, and a slice of crusty bread. Money doesn’t change who a person is.”
“I didn’t mean that it did.”
“Okay. No big deal.”
Maybe it is a big deal, though. “If you like stew so much, Braden, why don’t you have Marilyn cook it for you?”
He doesn’t hesitate. “It wouldn’t be the same.”
“As your mother’s?”
He nods.
Braden’s mother passed away before he made his billions. It’s common knowledge. He’s opening up a bit. A tiny bit, but I’ll take what I can get.
“Tell me about your mother,” I say.
He swallows his bite of stew, his eyes darting to the side. “I don’t talk about her.”
“Why?”
He meets my gaze this time. “It’s too hard.”
So much for that. “What about your dad? Can you tell me about him?”
“You can google him and find out everything.”
“I don’t want to read it in some rag, Braden. I want you to tell me.”
“I don’t talk about my family.”
What do you talk about, then? I don’t say the words, though. Instead—
“What happened between you and Addison?”
He wipes his mouth with his napkin and stands. “Your stew is delicious, Skye, but I’ve had enough talking for one night.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Braden yanks me out of my chair, pulls me into him, and smashes his mouth to mine. His tongue invades me, tasting of Wild Turkey, beef stew, and cinnamon—an intoxicating mélange that both burns and cools me simultaneously. I melt into the kiss and explore every inch of his delicious mouth. Already my core is throbbing in time with my racing heart.