Total pages in book: 159
Estimated words: 157450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 787(@200wpm)___ 630(@250wpm)___ 525(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 157450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 787(@200wpm)___ 630(@250wpm)___ 525(@300wpm)
She nods.
“Good. That stew smells amazing, and I’m starving.” Beef stew with prunes is my favorite of all Jessie’s dishes. She used to cook it for winter shoots on the estate when Kit, Maryanne, and I were pressed into service as beaters, driving the birds toward the guns. The aroma is tantalizing. After all our activities today, I’m famished.
* * *
Alessia insists on dishing up, and I let her do that while I set the table. Surreptitiously I watch her as she busies herself in the kitchen. Her movements are neat and elegant. She has an intrinsic, sensuous grace, and I wonder if she’s ever been a dancer. When she turns, her glorious hair spills down around her elfin face, and with a delicate flick of her wrist she flips it out of the way. Her long, slender fingers hold the knife as she slices open the baked potatoes, releasing wisps of steam. With her brow fixed in concentration, she spreads butter on them, and she stops to lick some melted butter from her index finger.
My groin tightens.
Oh, sweet Lord.
She glances up and catches me watching her.
“What is it?” she asks.
“Nothing.” My voice is gruff. I clear my throat. “I just like looking at you. You’re quite lovely.” I move quickly and fold her in my arms, taking her by surprise. “I’m glad you’re here with me.” My lips meet hers in a quick, loving kiss.
“I am glad, too,” she says with a shy smile. “Maxim.” My face splits in two. I love hearing my name in her accent. I grab our plates.
“Let’s eat.”
* * *
The beef-and-prune stew is aromatic, sweet, and tender. “Mmm,” Alessia murmurs, closing her eyes in appreciation. “I shijshëm.”
“Is that Albanian for ‘I hate this’?” Maxim asks.
She giggles. “No. It’s delicious. Tomorrow I will cook for you.”
“Do you?” he asks.
“Cook?” Alessia places her hand on her heart, affronted. “Of course. I am an Albanian woman. All Albanian women cook.”
“Okay. We’ll go shopping tomorrow for ingredients.” His grin is infectious, but as he regards her, his face grows more serious.
“One day,” he says, “will you tell me the whole story?”
“Story?” Her heart begins to thud.
“Of how and why you came to England.”
“Yes. One day,” she says.
One day. One day! ONE DAY!
Her heart skips a beat. Those two words imply a tangible future with this man.
Don’t they?
But as what?
Alessia is confused about how men and women interact in England. It’s different in Kukës. She’s seen enough American TV shows—when her mother wasn’t monitoring what she was watching—and in London she’s seen how free and easy men and women are in public together. Kissing. Talking. Holding hands. And she knows that these couples are not married. They are lovers.
Maxim holds her hand.
They talk.
He makes love to her….
Lovers.
Surely that’s what she and Mister Maxim are now.
Lovers.
Hope stirs in her heart, and it’s a rousing but scary sensation. She loves him. She should tell him. But she’s too shy to declare herself. And she doesn’t know how he feels about her. But she knows she would walk to the end of the earth for him.
“Would you like dessert?” he asks.
Alessia pats her stomach. “I am full.”
“It’s banoffee pie.”
“Banoffee?”
“Bananas, toffee, and cream.”
She shakes her head. “No thank you.”
He takes their empty plates to the kitchen counter and returns with a slice of banoffee pie. Sitting down, he places the plate on the table and takes a bite. “Mmm…” he says with exaggerated appreciation.
“You are teasing me. You want me to want your dessert?” she says.
“I want you to want a great many things. Right now it’s dessert.” Maxim smirks and licks his lips. With his fork he scoops up a small piece smothered in cream and offers it to her. “Eat,” he whispers, his voice seductive and his heated stare mesmerizing. In response, she parts her lips and accepts the mouthful.
Oh, Zot i madh!
She closes her eyes and savors the confection as it dissolves. It’s a sweet slice of heaven. When she focuses on him again, he’s smiling with an I-told-you-so grin. He presents her with another, larger piece. This time she opens her mouth without hesitating. But he pops it into his own mouth, grinning with mischief as he chews. She laughs. He is so playful. She pouts, and he rewards her with a wicked grin and another bite of pie. His eyes stray to her lips as he gently wipes the corner of her mouth with his index finger.
“You missed this,” he murmurs, holding up his cream-smeared finger. Gone is his humor. It’s replaced by a darker, simmering look. Alessia’s pulse thrums faster. And she doesn’t know if it’s the champagne that’s making her bolder or his scorching gaze, but she surrenders to her instincts. Leaning in toward his finger and with her eyes on his, she licks the cream off with the tip of her tongue. Maxim closes his eyes, and a low hum of appreciation rumbles in his throat. Emboldened by his reaction, she licks again, then kisses the tip before gently teasing it with her teeth. Maxim’s eyes fly open, and she closes her lips around his finger and sucks. Hard.