Chapter 11 #2
“So far I’ve enjoyed everything you’ve made.
” She lowered her eyes, and I realized too late it wasn’t the right thing to say after avoiding her food for the past two weeks.
“You never told me how you got into food. If the Gooduckant was anything to go by, your dad isn’t much of a cook. How about your mom?”
Her face darkened. “Domesticity wasn’t really her thing.”
“If you don’t want to talk about it . . .”
“No, it’s fine.”
“Did I know your mom?” I asked, as I refilled her glass.
“I doubt it. She was a cheerleader for a rival high school team. She met my dad after a game, they hooked up a few times, and ta-da!” She gestured to herself.
“So you grew up in Michigan?” I asked.
“Partly. We moved around a lot. My mom had family out west and we eventually ended up in Reno. She had problems with drugs—like almost everyone on that side of the family. She worked off and on, and we sometimes spent weeks in motel rooms eating cold canned soup for lunch and dinner.” She shivered.
“To this day I still can’t look at a can of cream of mushroom soup without having flashbacks. ”
Looking at her now, you’d have no idea she’d been through so much so young. No wonder she sometimes seemed older than her years.
She twirled her glass around and took another sip of Reynaud’s wine.
“Anyway, whenever my mom was busy, she’d set me loose at the library or plop me in front of the TV.
And that’s when I discovered cooking shows.
I spent hours with an empty stomach watching chefs preparing these amazing meals and it really fucked with my brain chemistry.
I started to pretend that my cold SpaghettiOs were Pasta alla Norma and that Nigella Lawson was my mom.
When we had money, I was the one who did the shopping and cooking. ”
“You must’ve grown up quickly in those circumstances.” If she’d impressed me before, now that I knew what she’d gone through as a kid and still managed to turn out like she had, I felt nothing but admiration.
I turned my attention back to the wine and opened another bottle from the region—an aged Bandol—hoping it would distract me from the urge to touch her.
Not in a sexual way this time. I just wanted to comfort her, but I didn’t know how to do that.
I’d never comforted anyone in my life, and yet my fingers inched closer to hers on the table.
“You could say that.” She sipped at her wine. “But I was just really proud that I could take care of myself and my mom. And even when I went to live with my dad, cooking was my way of taking care of the people I cared about.”
Fuck. Now I felt even worse about not eating her food. “How’d you end up with your dad?”
“My mom had a bad breakdown and ended up in the hospital. Her boyfriend at the time managed to get my dad’s name and old address from her, and he contacted him. Dad thought it was a joke at first, but then a paternity test proved otherwise.”
“Jesus, I can’t imagine how he felt knowing all you’d been through and not having been able to protect you.”
“That’s why he’s so overprotective now,” she said. “He’s got my life planned out until I’m forty. Maybe once I’m fifty he’ll let me sow some wild oats.”
I raised an eyebrow at her. “You don’t strike me as someone with a lot of wild oats to sow.”
“Wow, thanks?” She laughed. “Should I take that as an insult or a compliment?”
“It was supposed to be a compliment. I just meant that you seem to have it together. That’s one of the first things I noticed about you—your poise.”
“You mean when you first saw me in my child-sized reindeer sweater?” She arched a brow.
“Yeah, most people couldn’t have pulled it off, but you looked . . .” I hesitated, not wanting to admit what I had really thought back then.
“Like I always dressed like that?” she suggested, and her laughter wrapped around me. Honestly, I could listen to it all night.
She took another sip of wine and confided, “Jin told me I should lick rocks to have the appropriate mineral sense memory.”
“Hey, don’t knock it until you try it. Just look at what a pro Jin is. If I were to quit tomorrow, he could easily take the whole business over.” I was only half joking because sometimes the idea did run through my brain.
She shook her head. “I can’t imagine how people in town would gossip if they saw me wandering around licking stones by the side of the road.”
“True, they do like to gossip.”
As soon as the words left my mouth, she buried her face in her hands and groaned. “Oh God!”
“What?” Thinking she was in pain, I reached over to put my hands to her head. A mistake, I realized, when her silky hair met my fingertips. She peeked out from between her fingers. “I’m so embarrassed!”
“Why?” I peeled her hands away from her face and held on to them, forcing her to look at me.
“The whole town thinks we’re engaged. I’m so sorry.”
“I’m aware.” It didn’t seem like such a big deal now. In fact, it was kind of funny. “That’ll teach you to walk around saying yes to everything. Didn’t anyone teach you that there’s power in saying no ?”
“I’m not good at saying no.”
“Well, it’s a life skill. You’re going to need it.
” I glanced down at our entwined fingers.
Slowly, I withdrew my hand from hers and leaned back in my chair, so I wouldn’t be tempted to do something crazy.
“Anyway, no harm done. You’ve given Chantal and Michel some interesting gossip to share.
You can’t imagine the currency news has in this place. ”
“Then you aren’t mad?” She let out a shuddery breath.
“I was so afraid that you’d think I’d purposely let everyone believe that you and I .
. . I mean, as if that would ever be possible.
” A deep blush stained her high cheekbones, and she played nervously with her wine glass.
“Not that I don’t think that you’re attractive .
. . that is, you are objectively very good looking .
. . but you and I . . . oh God, just make me shut up. ”
Impulsively, I leaned forward and took the glass from her hand and gently pressed a finger to her lips. “Shh, don’t say anymore.”
Her lips were warm and supple under the calloused pad of my finger, and her breathing slowed as she stared into my eyes for what seemed like endless seconds.
I hesitated, then slowly traced her lower lip with my thumb.
She exhaled, her soft breath dancing across my skin.
Gently, I pushed the tip of my finger inside her mouth, felt the hot tip of her tongue against it as she held my gaze then lowered my eyes to watch her full lips close around it.
I stifled a groan as my body grew harder than those fucking rocks I’d told her to lick.
Slowly, I pulled my thumb out, moistening her lip, back and forth. God, I wanted to taste her. But I held back.
Then her eyes fluttered closed, and her head fell back in silent invitation. And who was I to refuse? Cupping her face between my hands, I lowered my lips to hers.
She tasted of the wine—black cherries and spice—but there was something more, a honeyed sweetness that made me want more.
Hesitantly, I traced the seam of her lips with my tongue, and she moaned as she opened to me, touching her tongue to mine.
My hands burrowed into her silky hair, holding her still as the kiss deepened, and I tasted her fully, our tongues tangling.
Her hands fisted into my shirt, pulling me closer.
A voice inside my head warned me to stop. But I no longer seemed to have control of my body, because instead of pulling away, my hands spanned her waist, dragging her closer, and my knee slid between her bare legs, pushing her little sundress up higher, higher . . .
My fingertips grazed the delicate skin behind her knee before gliding up the back of her thigh and she whimpered, raking her hand through my hair and arching up, pressing her tits against my chest. I could feel her nipples swell through the thin material of her dress.
I growled and buried my lips against her throat where her pulse beat wildly, matching the rhythm of my own thudding heart.
When she opened her leg over mine, I slipped a hand under her ass and lifted her onto my lap, settling her on top of the straining bulge of my pants.
With her skirt bunched around her hips, those lacy panties peeked out, the miniscule triangle of fabric damp and clinging to her.
I groaned, forcing myself not to rip it off her.
“Jake,” she panted, rolling her hips against me. I hissed and stilled her, digging my thumbs into her hips before I came right there.
I nipped at her collarbone, dipping my tongue into the hollow of her throat, tasting the metallic tang of her gold necklace, then pressed my lips against the creamy rise of flesh above her neckline. I couldn’t stop. I was going to fucking devour her on the table.
A wild hissing behind us jerked me back to reality just as the goddamn cat hurled himself onto the table, sending a ceramic bowl and one of the candles into the rosemary bush.
With lightning-fast reflexes, I removed Olivia from my lap, sprang to my feet, and threw the pitcher of water at the smoldering branches.
“Damn cat!” I cried after him, and that snaggle-toothed son of a bitch glowered at me from the lawn. I surveyed the charred plants and the broken bowl, my body aching and still hard as a rock.
The sound of stifled laughter behind me made me turn around. Olivia was slumped down in her chair, with her hand over her mouth, shoulders shaking. “I was afraid you were going to throw wine in the fire and set the whole garden ablaze.” She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye.
My eyes ran over her. The strap of her dress had slipped down one slender arm, exposing the top of one luscious breast, and her hair fell in disheveled waves over her shoulder. It hit me like a bucket of ice-cold water what I’d been on the verge of doing to her.
I forced my attention back to the burned rosemary bush. I had to, or I’d go back to the table, yank her from the chair, and continue what I’d started.
“That cat is a menace. I forbid you to feed him any longer,” I said as I bent over and picked up shards of broken pottery.
“It wasn’t his fault. I shouldn’t have put the candle so close to highly flammable plants.”
“I don’t know. Did you see the look he gave me? He did it on purpose.” I placed the pieces of the bowl back on the table. As the shock wore off, we both grew quiet, and the chorus of cicadas grew louder.
Great. Now what?
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught her staring at me expectantly.
“Listen, Olivia,” I shoved my fingers through my hair. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
She glanced away and tried to smile. “You don’t have to apologize. It was the wine, the stars. We got carried away.”
“Yeah.” I rubbed my hand over the back of my neck, hoping it would alleviate some of the tension in my dick. “The thing is, it would be inappropriate for so many reasons—our age difference, the fact that you’re sort of working for me. Christ, your dad.”
“You don’t need to list all the reasons why nothing could ever happen between us.
I’ve already gone over them in my head a dozen times.
” She stood and started to clear away the glasses.
I felt like a real shit for having given in to my attraction to her.
The last thing I wanted to do was hurt her feelings.
“Olivia . . .” I held my hands palms up, but she was already waving me off.
“It’s fine. Really.” But in my gut, I knew it wasn’t true.
“I should get to bed,” she said when she returned from the kitchen. “What time should I be ready to go tomorrow?”
Fuck. I’d forgotten we were leaving for Beaune in the morning. “We’ll leave at nine.”
“Okay. Good night.” She disappeared into the dark garden, and I didn’t move until I heard her door shut. Only then did I close my eyes and slump against the table.
What an unbelievable fucking mess.
How was I going to make it through the week without touching her?