Chapter 5 #3
He raised his fingers to her eyes, half expecting her to pull away again, but when she didn’t, he gently shuttered her lids. They glistened a little from the residual olive oil on his fingers.
‘Now, tell me what you taste.’
Even with her eyes shut, her face was expressive. Her grimace at his persistence followed by her reluctant resignation as she rolled the olive around in her mouth almost made him laugh.
Anyone would think he was forcing her to eat poison.
Her cheeks hollowed and her lips formed a very kissable moue before she slowly bit down, savouring the chewing process this time instead of rushing. ‘Salty,’ she said after she swallowed, her eyes fluttering open, finding his immediately. ‘But smooth, like thick, double cream.’
Valentino smiled, pleased at her assessment. ‘That’s the spirit.’ He reached for another, not giving her time to decline. ‘What about this one?’
Putting up no protest this time, she closed her eyes again as Valentino inched a black Kalamata marinated in herbs towards her mouth. Her nostrils flared as if she could already smell the earthy aromas, and he idlily wondered what she’d do if he pressed his lips to hers instead.
Would she pull away? Slap him across the face? Toss him out on his ass? Or would she open to him like she’d done once before?
A low rumbling noise confused him for a second, his hand stilling in its trajectory until Peyton’s hand slid to her belly. ‘Sorry…’ Her eyes drifted open. They were all silvery and slumberous and his breath caught in his throat. ‘Guess I am hungry.’
Tamping down on the triumph trumpeting through his veins at the dizzying admission, Valentino smiled. How long had Peyton been hungry for, really? How long had she let the growl of her stomach be drowned out by the much louder demands of her life?
Continuing the olive’s trek, Valentino pushed it past her lips that parted like a flower to the first rays of the sun, and a little burst of heat fizzed to life in Valentino’s loins.
The oil moistened her lips and the urge to follow the path of the olive with his own mouth was an urgent thrum in his blood.
She savoured again, rolling it around, her gaze never leaving his before she bit down again, a quiet ‘Mmm’ slipping out.
Valentino smiled. He knew that sound. ‘Good, huh?’
‘Is that rosemary? And’ – her brow knitted – ‘chives?’
‘A fast study,’ he teased.
‘And something else. Something…’
Valentino tracked the swipe of her tongue as it passed over her front teeth, hunting for the flavour. Dio! Being turned on by a woman eating olives had never been a kink of his but it sure as hell was now.
She smiled triumphantly. ‘Citrus?’
He laughed. ‘Very good. There’s lemon peel in the marinade.’
She mmm’d again with a level of appreciation Valentino wished was directed at him, not an olive, and when she licked her lips, he swore he felt it all the way down to his balls.
Foodie Peyton was a sight to behold. That dreamy expression combined with an oil-smeared mouth he wanted nothing more than to relieve her of was the XXX fantasy he never knew he needed.
The one that would haunt his nights to eternity.
Why hadn’t he fed her that night of the wedding? Ordered platters of food for her to taste and savour. For him to taste and savour. To smear on her body and lick right off.
He was staring, he realised, but then so was she, their gazes locked. Her breathing sounded a little erratic but then his did also – like he’d done a hell of a lot more than sit on his ass and hand-feed a woman.
Was she thinking about that night too? Or was she in the here and now, wanting more?
Dragging his eyes from her face, which was a delightful mix of uncertainty and newly discovered pleasure, he said, ‘That’s nothing. Wait till you taste this camembert. It’s incredible. So rich.’
Valentino loaded up a piece of bread with the soft cheese. ‘Did you know,’ he said, distracting himself from the ridiculous tremble of his hand, ‘that you shouldn’t have cheese on crackers? It should always be eaten with bread?’
He offered it to her again, like he had the olives, already anticipating the part of her mouth as he pushed it in, but she intercepted with her fingers, relieving him of the loaded disc of bread. Which was probably well advised but disappointing nonetheless.
Watching her teeth sink into the bread and not think about how she’d sunk her teeth into his bicep during one of her orgasms was an exercise in futility.
‘Remember, slowly,’ he said, forcing himself to concentrate on the here and now, not on that night. ‘Let it melt against your tongue.’
Her small moan and the brief flutter of her eyelids when the cheese hit her taste buds almost undid him. Feeding this woman who had clearly been starving – physically and sexually – for too many years was gratifying on so many levels.
‘Good, isn’t it?’ Valentino made a disc for himself and another for Peyton, which he placed in front of her this time.
No more hand-feeding, buddy.
‘Divine,’ she agreed and devoured the second portion in record time.
Valentino made her another, which she ate slowly this time as if remembering to enjoy it before washing it down with a mouthful of wine. He quirked an eyebrow. ‘Another?’
She shook her head. ‘I’m good for the moment.’
A laugh from McKenzie drifted out from the open doors and Peyton glanced her way, smiling affectionately. When she returned her attention to him, it was with eyes that were suddenly shrewd. Picking up her wine, she regarded him over the rim.
‘So…’ She took a sip and placed the glass on the table. ‘You want to tell me what you’re really doing here?’
Valentino blinked at the direct question. He did have an ulterior motive – Harry had sent him to update her on Ben’s condition. If he’d had a choice he would have declined, but Harry had sounded so tapped out emotionally and frankly just… overwhelmed, he hadn’t been able to say no.
And they both knew Peyton had been fretting about the situation.
One eyebrow winged up impatiently. ‘Come on, Valentino, you didn’t just come to meet McKenzie, which you could easily have done tomorrow, and you surely didn’t come to feed me.’
Feeding her was a lot easier and a hell of a lot more pleasant than the news that he’d been carrying since he got off the phone a couple of hours ago.
She stilled then and Valentino watched realisation dawn. ‘You’ve heard about Ben, haven’t you?’ She sat up straighter. ‘I spoke briefly with Harry on Friday night but I haven’t been able to get hold of him since.’
Valentino nodded. ‘He has a significant brain injury. They don’t think it’s fatal, he should pull through barring any complications, but there will be considerable… deficits. They are expecting a lengthy rehabilitation period.’
Peyton stared at him so hard Valentino could hardly bear it. Searching his face for the truth in his words, looking for some kind of gotcha or loophole that softened the awful reality. Unfortunately, there wasn’t any and he could see that she knew it, too.
She shook her head. ‘Oh God, that’s… horrible.’ Her husky voice revealed the depth of her abject sadness.
‘Yes. He’s in the best of hands, though. Intensive care. Round-the-clock specialists. Intensive rehab when he’s able.’
‘Uh huh.’
But the way Peyton looked past him with glassy eyes, like the news was still too raw to look at him, told Valentino she understood that even with all the medical support, it would be a long hard road ahead for Harry’s grandson.
Picking up her wine, she took another sip, still staring past him as her knuckles whitened around the stem. She took two more sips before the wine glass landed back on the table and she fixed her gaze on him. ‘You could have told me that over the phone.’
A mirthless laugh pushed at Valentino’s lips, but he refused to let it out. What kind of a person would that make him? Dumping that kind of information in her lap over the phone then just casually hang up and get on with his day.
He knew how close she was to Harry – he could never have done that.
Meeting her gaze, he said, ‘Some news is better in person.’
She nodded absently and he could tell she understood the sentiment. There was a sadness inside her now and Valentino wished he hadn’t been the one to put it there, and yet he was pleased he was here when she found out.
Another sip or two of wine followed. Peyton seemed lost in her own thoughts and Valentino, comfortable around female emotion of all kinds thanks to his sisters, let her sit with them for long moments.
‘Thank you,’ she said eventually as she refocused on him.
Valentino nodded dismissively before draining the last mouthful from his glass. ‘There’s another reason.’ It had been on his mind since their morning in surgery together.
‘Oh?’ She raised both eyebrows. ‘That sounds ominous.’
Her tone had the hint of teasing and, after the heavy stuff, it felt good. It smoothed the path to what he wanted to talk about. ‘I thought, as we’ll be working together in the coming months, we could… set some ground rules.’
The fact of the matter was that, for the short term when she returned after her leave, he would be her boss and, whether he liked it or not, that meant anything happening between him and her of an intimate nature was not possible.
Not forbidden exactly but not professional, either.
‘Good idea.’ She nodded. ‘I think that’s very sensible.’
Valentino almost laughed at her eagerness. He hadn’t needed to know her for long to know that sensible was her middle name. That the night of the wedding had been well out of her wheelhouse.
‘Number one,’ she said, jumping in first. ‘We’re never going to be…’ She broke off, her earlier bravado deserting her.
‘What, Peyton?’ Valentino tilted his head, daring her to put a name to what they were considering he wasn’t really sure himself. ‘We’re never going to be what?’
A slight bloom of pink tinged her cheeks but, just as quickly, her chin rose. ‘Lovers,’ she said, a little defiantly. ‘Again.’
Valentino smiled at the determined gleam in her eye.
He wasn’t sorry they’d been lovers. If he had his way, he’d be up to explore that a lot more for the time he was here.
But that wasn’t his MO. He kept his relationships short, sweet and uncomplicated and this one with Peyton had proved to already be none of those things.
He should be all over her rule. It was just so damn… final.
Still, she was right – they couldn’t be lovers again. Not while they were working together, and one lovers’ tiff could have a ripple effect on the entire department.
‘Agreed.’ He made another cheese and bread combo and handed it to her, gratified to see her eat it without protest. ‘So, let’s be friends instead,’ he suggested. ‘We’re going to be working together and your daughter will be a temporary patient of mine. There’s no reason we can’t be friends.’
She eyed him dubiously. ‘I don’t know…’
‘Oh, come on. You’re friends with Harry, right?’
‘Yes, but…’
‘But?’
Briefly glancing in at McKenzie, she looked back at him. Keeping her voice low, she said, ‘I haven’t slept with Harry.’
Valentino wanted to say she hadn’t exactly slept with him either but he was pretty sure she didn’t need flippancy at the moment so he just shrugged instead.
‘You think we can do that?’ she asked earnestly. ‘You and I? Put the wedding behind us and be friends?’
He didn’t know whether to be insulted or annoyed at the question, but it was genuine and he’d be lying if he didn’t admit that part of him at least was a little thrilled by the idea that Peyton couldn’t separate out the lover from the doctor.
That she clearly also had problems forgetting about the wedding.
‘Naturalmente.’
She shot him an incredulous look. ‘Do you have many female friends?’
Valentino chuckled. Already she knew him surprisingly well. ‘Of course, women love me.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Of course.’
Sobering a little, he sat forward in his chair. ‘It makes sense, Peyton. It will make our communications over McKenzie easier and working together much smoother, too, if we start with a clean slate and on the right foot.’
Would that take work? Sure. But if they both committed to it, why not? They were professionals after all.
Eyeing him for a beat, she nodded slowly as if she could see it was possible. Or was at least willing to try. ‘Okay.’ She offered him her hand to shake. ‘Friends.’
Valentino glanced at her proffered hand. In his country when a woman offered her hand to a man, he would be more likely to kiss it than shake it, but that would be a mistake – even in jest. He’d suggested this compromise so it was up to him to lead by example.
Enfolding her hand in his, he said, ‘Friends.’
And as a flush of heat spread up his arm, he hoped like hell they could pull it off.