Chapter 12
"We should eat," he said briskly instead and felt like a coward. He stirred himself. His wife lifted her head and smiled, dimples creasing her cheeks, and he felt his heart melting even more.
"I could eat a cow." She trailed her fingers up and down his chest, loving the fact that his muscles leapt in response.
She had been expecting him to tell her he loved her and had to hide her disappointment when he simply mentioned food.
But she could wait. She already knew he felt something and would just have to wait.
Clamping a hand on her roaming one, he shook his head, eyes darkening. "Unless you want to satisfy another craving, I suggest you cease."
"I thought we were going to spend all day in bed."
"First we eat." Bending, he kissed her roughly on the lips before detangling his limbs from hers. Propping her head on her palm, she had the pleasure of staring at his magnificent physique.
"Aren't you getting dressed?"
He dragged on a pair of sweats, leaving his impressive-looking chest bare.
"Soon," she murmured, a smile playing around her lips.
Shaking his head and feeling his desire starting all over again, he turned away to find a t-shirt.
"We eat in the kitchen." Grabbing a rose-colored silk robe, he tossed it at her. "If you're down in five minutes, I eat without you."
Flopping back on the pillows, she took a deep breath and wondered how on earth she was going to concentrate on anything else after this.
When she came downstairs, it was to see him putting steaming bowls of the stew on trays. A home-baked, tasty-looking soda bread was already sliced, and a bowl of garden salad sat on a tray.
He looked up as she entered and tried to ignore the fact that her robe was gaping open at the neck, revealing enticing glimpses of flesh.
He had already made love to her and had spent the last couple of minutes in the kitchen giving himself a stern pep talk about controlling his baser instincts.
That went to hell as soon as he saw her.
He was stirring to alarming life and didn't like the fact that just looking at her did this to him. It made him crabby and ill-tempered.
"We dine in the living room, unless you want to eat here in the kitchen." His tone was a little snippy, but too damn bad. He wasn't feeling particularly gracious.
"Living room is fine. What can I do?"
"Grab the bottle of wine from the cooler. The Costa Imperial will go well with the meal."
Very soon they were set up in front of a blazing fire in the large living room. It was snowing, steady drips of it pinging on the floor-to-ceiling windows. The sky was a leaden gray; the trees were almost completely covered in white, but Indigo could not have asked for a more romantic setting.
He had set up a table between the comfortable rockers.
"This is amazingly good," she murmured after she had taken her first taste of the stew. "And the bread is a marvel. I wonder where she learned to cook like this."
Stretching his legs out, Brant eased out a breath and decided to enjoy the moment.
"She was with my family for years. She's originally from Ireland and lived in Spain for a time.
She lost her husband and son there and went back to Ireland for a while.
" Picking up his wine, he took a sip and savored the taste on his tongue.
"I believe you know that my family originated in Dublin? "
She nodded and took another healthy bite of the stew. "I read somewhere that your dad's dad was born there."
"So were my paternal grandparents."
"Are they still alive?"
"No." He shook his head. "They died ten years ago in a boating accident."
"And your mother?"
"What about her?"
"Was she from Ireland too?"
"She was born here but had ties to Ireland.
It was while on a visit there that she met my dad and things happened almost immediately.
" He smiled slightly. "She had just started out in her career as an actress or so she told me.
Young and starry-eyed, she caught my father's eyes, and he proposed to her after less than a week. "
"Love at first sight," she murmured dreamily.
"Something like that." He sent her a quick glance, his body tightening in awareness.
She looked seductive and desirable. It was funny that she could be so beautiful without a stitch of makeup on.
The women he was used to would never dream of being in the company of anyone, much less a male, without first putting on war paint.
But his wife didn't even have so much as a drop of lipstick on and was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
No wonder he was losing his head and heart over her.
"Why antiques?" he asked abruptly, trying to bring some pragmatism to the atmosphere.
He was going to make love to her soon. When they finished eating, he would wait a little bit before he spread the blankets and made slow and thorough love to her in front of the fire.
It was going to last well into the night and the next morning. He was craving her.
"What?" Turning her head swiftly around, she stared at him, puzzled.
"Antiques. Your store. Why did you go there?"
"Oh." Blinking her eyes at the rapid change of topic, she tried to adjust. One minute they were talking about his family and the next he was swiftly introducing another subject. The man was a complete mystery.
"I adore old things. When I was little, my dad and I used to go on road trips, and we would stop at these quaint little antique stores.
I fell in love with the past, because that's what it really is.
A blast from the past. I would stand for hours admiring the craftsmanship and visualize men or women sitting on a bench and making magic with love.
Each piece different and part of a very vivid imagination.
" She shook her head with a laugh. "When I went to college, I had the idea of studying literature because I love to read, but then I switched to art history and visual culture. "
"Double degrees. I'm impressed."
She slid him a glance, her tapered brows lifting. "You naturally assumed that since I was running a store, I hadn't been to college."
"No," he corrected her. "I knew you were smart and that was a genuine compliment. No need to be so defensive."
She sighed and smiled at him, her dimples surfacing. "I'm sorry. Most people assume that since I'm running a store, then it simply means that I'm a black woman who had not made the cut or gone to college."
"I'm not most people and I'm not one of them who's stupid enough to think that going to college is the only way someone can achieve. I know a few people who never got a higher learning and are doing pretty well for themselves."
She assimilated this in silence, realizing that she really did not know this man she was married to and was now in love with. "I was thinking of including a vintage clothing section," she ventured, not really surprised she was telling him this.
"When?"
A smile touched her lips at his question. There was no doubt, no questions asked, just an acceptance.
"As soon as the worst of the winter is over. I have someone who makes them and she's very good."
He nodded and took another sip of his wine. They had eaten all of the stew and several slices of the delicious bread, including the salad.
"Good for you."
Curling her feet under her, she turned to face him. "What about those vintage cars you are thinking about?"
"Not just thinking." He relaxed back on the cushions under his head.
"I actually started the process. That was what my meeting in Europe was all about.
My dad started the process a long time ago and was not able to carry it out.
The men he was dealing with did not want to do business with a woman.
" He slanted her a smile. "I know this grieves your women's lib heart, but some men have not come over to the twenty-first century and probably never will. "
"More's the pity and their loss," she muttered darkly.
"Precisely," he concurred with a grin. "They could not see beyond my mother being an exceptionally beautiful woman and a former actress. When I officially stepped into the role of CEO..."
"Wait!" She held up a hand and sat up abruptly. "It's official? You didn't say."
"I thought I did," he replied smoothly, earning him a glare.
"You know you didn't. This should be champagne, although this wine is totally magnificent. But this should be bubbly."
"I believe we had bubbly last night, leading up to..." He gestured towards her body. "You know."
"Making magic?" She arched a brow at him, her dimples winking.
"Yes. That."
Putting her glass down, she removed the tray from between them and made a split second decision.
"What?"
"I think I know a better way to celebrate your new status."
"And that would be... Oh!" He put his glass down before it could crash to the floor and watched as she removed the only layer covering her lush curves.
His mouth went completely dry and he wondered fleetingly if he should take another sip of the wine to quench his sudden thirst.
Before he could do anything, she was straddling him and removing his shirt. He had not bothered with underwear, and it was painfully evident that he was as hard as steel.
"I see you're way ahead of me," she murmured, hands sliding up and down his ribcage.
"Always," he managed. He could feel the familiar madness taking over and his control slowly disintegrating. The fire crackled inside the hearth and the snow pinged softly on the glass. The accelerated sound of their breathing could be heard in the otherwise silent room.
"Take it off," she told him breathlessly. "I want to feel you deep inside me."