CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
My frown is immediate. “Absolutely not. Choose another request.”
“I want that one.”
“You can’t have it.”
I mean, I’m grateful for his help. Although perhaps help is a lukewarm description, since he pretty much saved Lisset’s birthday party. But I’m not that grateful. Or that stupid.
He’s silent for a beat, then he lets out a disillusioned sigh. “I thought so.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Just that I knew you’d be too chicken to do the tasting. I guess a bunch of nine-year-olds have more spunk than you.”
“Nice try.” He’s playing the oldest trick in the book, and I see right through him. “I know what you’re trying to do.”
His eyes are wide when he asks, “What am I trying to do?”
I hold back a snort. Please. I have a nine-year-old daughter. I can spot fake innocence a mile off. “You’re trying to bait me into doing a silly taste testing.”
And trying to bait me into something deeper. Something that will require me to relinquish control and yield to him in a way that terrifies me even as it quietly thrills me.
“Am I?” he asks.
“Yes. But the party’s over. There’s no point.”
“There’s always a point, Katherine,” he tells me, deliberately using the name he knows I detest. “But it doesn’t matter,” he adds with a negligent shrug. “I won the bet.”
I narrow my eyes at his self-satisfied expression. “What bet?”
“The bet I had with myself.” His voice is nonchalant, slightly taunting. “I bet you wouldn’t do the challenge, and I won.”
“You can’t bet against yourself!”
“I can and I did.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” I argue, but I can’t quite hide the uncertainty in my voice.
“I’m heading out now,” he says, making his way toward my front door. “Enjoy the rest of your evening.”
I stare after him in frustration. I don’t believe it. He’s walking out, leaving me with a tidy house, but all this internal mayhem. “Gideon, wait!”
He stops and faces me, eyebrows raised. “Yes?”
I press my palms to my thighs. The trap he’s laid out is so clumsy and obvious, but I can’t let him win this bet. A bet I didn’t even choose to participate in. Tess always said my competitive spirit would be my downfall, but that’s the thing with me. I’m not one to turn down a challenge. And, yes, I do kind of owe him one.
But for all the teasing and banter, I know there’s something more at play here than a simple taste test. I wonder if Gideon is challenging me to take the next step in trusting him.
I want to but fear holds me back. A fear of not being in control. A fear of what he might do to me. This feels foolhardy. Reckless, even. But I worry that if I don’t exorcise my fear, I’ll never be able to open myself up to love again.
Suddenly, I want to—I need to–take that step. I’m so tired of being afraid all the time.
“Fine,” I say after a moment. “I’ll play your taste testing game.”
“I don’t know,” he says with a regretful head shake. “I don’t like your attitude.”
“Don’t push it,” I warn.
That elicits a rich rumble of a laugh from deep inside his chest.
Returning to stand in front of me, he points to a straight-backed dining room chair. Letting out a meaningful, long-suffering sigh, I sit.
Then he picks up a pastel blue scarf from the neatly folded pile on the table.
I blink. “Wait, do I have to be blindfolded?”
“That’s how the game works.”
My eyes lock with his. He waits patiently. I feel that first delicious tingle of anticipation.
“Fine.”
Wordlessly, Gideon moves to stand behind me. He’s so close I can feel the heat emanating off his body, curling around me. He wraps the scarf carefully over my eyes and ties it at the back of my head. I can’t see a thing.
There are so many reasons why this isn’t a good idea. I have what feels like a hundred items on my to-do list and this game feels indulgent and foolish. It also feels dangerous, like it could lead to...something.
But you know what? Stuff my to-do list. That wretched list is a black hole, it just keeps expanding, sucking me in with its need to be done now gravitational force. And when was the last time I did something impulsive? Something just for me?
“I’ll be right back,” Gideon whispers in my ear, sending a shiver rolling through me.
I feel him move away and I hear him in the kitchen, taking his sweet time putting together items for me to taste.
There’s an exhilarating buzzing beneath my skin and my blood is pulsating with anticipation. Is this his intention? The buildup. The wait. The wondering.
We’re playing so close to the line here.
“What’s taking so long?” I call out.
I hear his footfalls approaching. “Impatient for me to get back to you?”
“No.”
“I like to be thorough. Which you should appreciate.”
Seconds later, I sense him settle in the chair opposite me.
Because I can’t see, my other senses are heightened. I can smell the scent of his soap, feel the hard press of his knees touching mine.
“You ready?” he asks.
I clear my throat. “Yes.”
“I know how much you like your rules, so I’ll explain them beforehand.”
“All right.”
“I have five items for you to taste,” he says. “A mix of savory and sweet.”
“You haven’t snuck in something disgusting, have you? Some kind of ketchup and hot sauce concoction?”
“Typically, nothing is off-limits when it comes to blind taste tests,” he says, “but you’ll like everything here.”
There’s something in the tone of his voice, like there’s a subtext there I’m not understanding.
I swallow. “Okay.”
“I’ll feed you.”
“I can feed myself,” I insist.
“My game, my rules.”
It’s such a simple statement, yet I find myself breathless.
“Do you agree?” he asks.
“No.”
I hear the smile in his voice when he reframes the question. “Do you accept?”
My answer is resigned. “Yes.”
“First item.”
When the food touches my lips, I instinctively try to take it from him so I can put it in my mouth myself.
Gideon makes a tsk-tsk sound and captures my hand in his. “Breaking the rules already, I see.”
“I can’t help it.”
“We’ll have to make a plan then for these pesky hands.”
A scarf is suddenly looped around one of my wrists.
I stiffen.
He pauses immediately. His voice is low and quiet when he asks, “Is this a problem for you?”
My heart stalls. I’m caught in a timeless moment. What do I do? A part of me wants to pull away, to yell enough , and return to my regulated, ordinary life. A life where I’m in control. Where I don’t allow myself to be at the mercy of anyone. A life that’s also, to be brutally frank, somewhat unimaginative.
Another part of me is dying to surrender and see where this will lead.
Gideon is still waiting, making no attempt to persuade me either way, leaving the decision up to me.
Without a word, I hold out my other hand. I hear his breathing quicken in excitement.
He doesn’t say anything as I sense him push to his feet and move around to the back of my chair, tying my hands firmly behind my back, not tight enough to hurt, but tight enough that it’s difficult for me to break free. He is as skilled at scarf tying as he is at tying my emotions in a knot.
I’m blindfolded and my hands are tied behind my back. I feel painfully vulnerable.
As Gideon reclaims his seat in front of me, it comes to me then that the man has a habit of consistently outflanking me. Maybe, just maybe, I was right in my thinking and this whole exercise or game or whatever you want to call it is a lesson in trust. Specifically, to trust him . The very thing I have trouble giving—my trust—is the one thing he’s asking of me.
It’s a big ask.
My breathing is choppy, as unstable as the beating of my heart. With each passing second, my decision is starting to feel like a terrible mistake.
As if he senses the turmoil swirling inside me, Gideon asks softly. “You want a safe word, Kate?”
I take a steadying breath. “Yes, please.”
“Just say this word and the game stops immediately. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“The safe word is Katherine .”
My mouth drops open. His deviousness floors me. “You bast—!”
He presses a finger against my lips. “Uh-uh, that’s not the safe word.”
“I want another one.”
“Nope. It’s not your game.”
Once again he’s outflanked me, choosing the one word I hate and refuse to utter. But at least my annoyance has nudged aside my fears. I chew the inside of my cheek. Is that his intention? I swipe left on that thought. Now I’m giving him too much credit. There’s no way he knows me that well.
“Let’s try this again,” he says. “First food item.”
Something is placed against my lips and I open my mouth to taste it. Triumph shoots through me. I know exactly what this is.
“Strawberry.”
“Yes.”
I swallow the sweet fruit. “Starting off easy?”
“Just reeling you in.”
I smile.
The next item touches my lips and I take it in, chewing slowly.
“Cucumber.”
“Correct.”
I’m preening a little, quietly congratulating myself as I lick the taste of cucumber off my lips.
After a moment, I realize how still he is, how he hasn’t offered me my next food item.
“Gideon?”
“Open up for me, Kate,” he orders, his voice a little rough.
Everything inside me tightens. One instruction and a fire is ignited inside me. This whole situation feels achingly and thrillingly intimate, as if we’re encased in our own private bubble, the world outside muted.
I obediently part my lips.
“That’s my girl,” he murmurs, his voice low and approving.
He places something sour and slightly acidic inside my mouth. I try to identify the taste on my tongue, but I’m stumped. It’s no surprise he’s upped the difficulty level.
“Olive?” I venture.
“Nope. Caper.”
A jar that Tess left in my fridge. I click my tongue at myself. I hate to get an answer wrong.
The tips of his fingers brush my jawline as he withdraws his hand. His touch sends a jolt of pleasure through me and I try not to squirm in my chair.
When the fourth food item is slow in coming, I ask, “What’s going on? What are you doing?”
“Looking,” he answers, the sandpaper huskiness of his voice causing my breath to catch.
“Looking at what?”
“You.”
A hot blush takes over my body. I keep still with the throbbing awareness of the picture I undoubtedly present to him: my form-fitting sundress stretched tight across my chest because of the way my arms are restrained behind me.
Gideon’s knee inserts itself between my legs, nudging them apart so he can shift even closer. I feel my throat dry up. The intensity of his closeness is like a burn on my skin.
“Next item,” he says, his voice strained, as if he’s having a hard time speaking.
I take the food he gives me. It takes me a couple of seconds to place the taste.
“Melon.”
“Be specific, Kate.”
“Um, a honeydew melon.”
“Yes.”
A restlessness is taking over my body. I’m craving something and I don’t know what it is I’m craving. Or maybe I do know and I can’t admit it, even to myself.
Gideon still has to give me the fifth and final item to taste. So far, he’s chosen two savory and two sweet foods. I have no idea what the last one will be.
I feel him leaning in even closer. A tremor runs through me. He’s so close I can feel the brush of his breath on the corner of my mouth. He smells like cedar wood and hope.
“You want to guess what the fifth item is?” he asks, his voice dropping to a hoarse whisper.
I’m stiff and silent, aching. When I realize the ache is for a physical connection, the shock I feel is almost breathtaking. Me, Kate Miller, the person who has shunned physical touch for the past four years, only allowing Lisset to get close while keeping everyone else, even my own family, at a distance.
Gideon’s lips are now inches from mine.
My heart is thumping against my rib cage, but I don’t pull back.
Instead, I wait, preparing myself. But nothing prepares me for the delicate touch of his lips grazing mine, ever so slowly and tenderly. I feel my locked muscles loosening, pleasure licking its way down my spine.
Gideon pulls back slightly and a whimper escapes me. I’m helpless and straining, completely at his mercy. The slow-burn wait he’s subjecting me to is the most exquisite torture.
Another ghosting of his lips over mine. “Do you want more?” he murmurs.
I can say no and end it all now. Play it safe, the way I’ve been playing it since Oliver left. But I’m too far gone for no .
I find myself leaning forward, pulling against my restraints, a wordless invitation, reduced to begging.
“ Yes ,” I breathe out.
That’s all he needs.
He slants his mouth over mine, a tiny taste, a nibble of my bottom lip, testing, teasing, and then his tongue slides inside my mouth and he feasts. He’s in no hurry, taking his time savoring and exploring, but I taste his burning desire for me.
He holds nothing back as he deepens the kiss, his beard tickling my skin. It’s all heat and perfection, and if I never remember anything else about this time, I will always remember this kiss.
Sparks spill over my skin as my tongue tangles with his. I can’t get enough of him. He tastes like sunshine and summer.
My body is stirring from its self-imposed winter hibernation and giving itself over to him completely.
In the next instant, he’s tugging off my blindfold and loosening my restraints. He pulls me to my feet and we stare at one another for the longest ten seconds of my life.
My heart is thumping, my skin humming, the blood racing through my veins.
I know this feeling. I felt this way when I skydived. When I was in the plane and the door opened, the illuminated green light indicating it was time to jump. Funnily enough, the most nerve-racking part of skydiving is the lead-up. That’s when the worry sets in. The fear builds. And your imagination runs riot imagining everything that can go wrong.
Gideon frames my face in his big, capable hands, his thumbs stroking my cheeks. In the soft light of the dining room, his eyes are glittering, full of adventure and complications.
“Stop thinking,” he whispers.
“Kiss me then,” I say, stepping out of the airplane.
His eyes flash a shade darker. While one hand moves to cradle the back of my head, the other flattens into the hollow of my spine, bringing me flush against him. We fit together perfectly.
Then his mouth descends on mine, and I tumble through the air.
He kisses me so fiercely my joints turn to liquid. I let out a moan as I press myself against his deliciously hard body, so aware of his contained strength. I feel the muscles in his back move under my fingers. He groans into my mouth.
I’m falling, surrounded by sky, not knowing whether I’m up or down, my adrenaline pumping, wind rushing over my skin, a roaring in my ears. I’m reaching terminal velocity.
Except when he lifts his head and breaks our kiss, my parachute doesn’t open. I’m not floating gently to the ground. I’m still in free fall. Still plummeting. Heading for a hard fall.
“What’s going through that beautiful head of yours?” Gideon murmurs.
I shiver. “It feels like I’m skydiving, but my parachute’s not opening.”
He rests his forehead against mine. “Hey, we’re in a tandem jump here. I’ll open my parachute. Just hold onto me.”
My throat swells with emotion. “What if I can’t hold on?”
“It doesn’t matter if you hold on or not, because I’ve got you.” He cradles my jaw. “I’ve always got you.”