Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“I still don’t entirely get what he does for a living,” Michael says as he sets the timer down beside the stove.
“He’s a famous architect. Like Val.”
He grabs the dishcloth off the faucet and starts wiping down the counter.
“Is he? I’ve seen them draw a few gardens, have lots of dinner meetings and brainstorming sessions where everyone is panicking.
They redecorated a house once and had like three fashion shows so Eda and her friends could wear fancy outfits and walk in slow motion. ”
I love it when they do that, but Michael has a point. Val’s firm might be smaller, but as far as I know, they don’t do any of those things. “I thought it might make more sense in Turkish.”
“Well, it doesn’t,” he assures me dryly. “He just seems too damned stressed for a guy continuously going on group retreats and watching that admittedly attractive woman stride down various catwalks. And why does she keep fainting?”
I would have been jealous about him finding the actress attractive if I didn’t want to look like her and he hadn’t followed it up with that question. “She’s claustrophobic and he has panic attacks.”
“They sound perfect for each other.”
His sarcasm makes me toss one of the choux pastry puffs at him, and he catches it easily without it crumbling.
I’m impressed in spite of my irritation.
“They are. They have insane chemistry, and he adores her. There are a lot of passionate moments mixed into the crazy, set to a song I now equate with sex every time I hear it. Don’t heckle my show or I’ll make you watch a musical next. ”
This threat always works with my roommate, but Michael just shrugs. “I like musicals. They usually have storylines that make sense.”
The nerve of this man. “Don’t you dare pretend to like musicals to distract me from the fact that you’re dissing the show.”
He tosses the cloth into the sink, pauses the show and hits something else on his laptop. The song I just mentioned starts playing in the background as he gently tugs me into his arms. “I’ll never pretend with you, Win. I like this one too. I’d love to hear you sing it to me sometime.”
Are we dancing in the kitchen?
We went from baking and bantering about a Turkish romcom to this in a heartbeat. I’m practically swooning, and all he did was tug me close, take the pressure off my healing ankle, and start swaying to the thrumming beat of the song.
The lyrics about promising to treat my heart so tenderly resonate as I gaze into his eyes—warm and fascinating and entirely concentrated on me.
I’m getting too used to his brand of attention.
I love the way he can’t take his eyes off of me.
That every time I glance over at him he’s already looking my way.
And his touch. He’s always finding a reason to touch me.
Carry me. I hadn’t realized how much I’d been craving physical contact until I got here.
He would be the kind of man to hold my hand in public.
To put his arm around my shoulder at the movie theater.
To squeeze my knee under the table at family dinner and game night.
Are you imagining him joining the group now, Winnie?
Bex told me to take a chance, but this feels less like a dip in the relationship pool and more like being dropped in the middle of the ocean. Michael Demir is not a starter boyfriend. If I opened my heart and it didn’t work out, I’m not sure I could find my way back.
This entire thought experiment could also be pointless, since he mentioned something about leaving town after this weekend.
But what if he doesn’t?
“I can’t get a handle on you,” I tell him quietly. “When we first met, I thought you were a grumpy, growling dragon. Now you scramble my brain with wild sex and sugar and romance. You dance with me.”
“Is that so bad?” he murmurs. “Aren’t you the one who told me we’re all more than one thing? I’m enjoying learning about all your little contradictions and eccentricities.”
He does seem to be. Nothing I say fazes him.
I mention presidential genitalia and he finds it endearing.
I tell him about wearing makeup and singing “Out Tonight” from Rent while crawling across a stage on my hands and knees, and his eyes light with interest. I ramble about my work and he’s fascinated.
“It’s surprising.” Especially when this complex but perfectly wrapped package might as well come from a different world. One with loving mothers and tutors and more money than I’m comfortable thinking about.
As if on cue, the song’s chorus starts to play.
Good as gold
Trade you all my money for your gold.
Worship you cause honey you’re like gold
He’s kept other people at arm’s length for a long time.
Determined to prove he isn’t like his father.
It sounds like a lonely life. I find myself wanting to help him connect with his brother.
I know opening that door would give him a large, interfering family who will make sure he’s never lonely again.
Even if we didn’t have more than this weekend, he would still have that.
He deserves to have other people see how wonderful he is.
Oh, Winnie. You’ve got it so bad.
He’s staring at my mouth, and it’s turning me on again. After what we did in the shower earlier, and then again on the bed, I’m surprised I can walk, let alone think of jumping on for another ride. This is so much more than “the normal amount” of hooking up, I’m not sure what to do with it all.
Enjoy it?
That goes without saying.
“I got those DVDs from a friend in Istanbul,” he confesses with a rueful look. “I mentioned Serkan and Eda and he knew exactly what I was talking about. Watching it made me remember your language fetish. And what I said to you that night.”
“I thought of you when I rewatched it too. He reminded me of you.” As we sway, I lift a finger to his furrowing brow. “The forehead. The intensity.”
His forehead intensifies. “I’m nothing like that character.”
I bite my cheek to stop my smile. “Are so.”
“I’m not that OCD. I wouldn’t make those decisions. Except for the handcuffs. I’d definitely put you in handcuffs to keep you around.”
“ She put the handcuffs on him .”
“Sure. The first time.”
I smirk. “You have to see the resemblance, Michael. You’re both wealthy Turkish dudes. You both cook and you’re incredibly close with your mothers. You’re both sexy. You both have dogs. His is bigger than both of yours put together, but still.”
“You think he’s sexy?”
That’s what he focused on? “He doesn’t like desserts and he isn’t real, so there’s no comparison.” I rub myself against his growing erection. “He’s also nowhere near as impressive as you are. You win.”
“You’re forgiven. And I’m only half Turkish. The other half is Colorado rancher.”
Yes, yes, you’re perfect. Keep rubbing it in.
I laugh and rest my head on his chest. This conversation shouldn’t be a turn-on, but it is. He watched a show I mentioned in passing because it reminded him of me. “Your hard coating hides a mushy, marshmallow center, Michael Demir.”
“I’m not the one who reads and watches romance on a regular basis.”
I lift my head, a little insulted. “I read and watch other things, but I’m trying to stay current.
For the children. Do you have any idea how many of the girls in my last class suddenly became A students after learning I’d read a certain dragon academy series?
An alarming number, Michael. That’s how many.
They don’t share my love of history, but they really do like girls with powers, knives and dragons getting the dangerous broody bad boy. ”
“You don’t like this?” He pulls me closer and does a half spin, lifting me enough that my feet barely touch the ground. “It doesn’t make you want more?”
Even when we stop, the room still feels like it’s spinning. “I’ll take more of you, Michael Demir. Anytime you’re ready for me.”
Heat sparks in his eyes and he lowers my feet to the ground, his head dipping closer just as a timer goes off.
“Give me a minute,” he says, his voice full of dark promise even as he lets me go to take a pan out of the oven.
Is this a low point in my experiment with dating? I offer sex and get abandoned for baked goods? I wonder if there’s a thread on Reddit for that. “Why are we making all these puff balls again? I thought you had enough to do with your hands.”
He laughs. “I have to make close to four hundred for the two croquembouches. We’re preparing the pate à choux first. Then I’ll make the crème patissière for the filling.
I won’t put them together until I get them to the lodge kitchen tomorrow.
The weather should have cleared up by then.
I’m guessing I’ll just make the caramel on site. ”
I shake my head in confusion and, oddly, arousal. Cream filling and caramel. Mmm. Then what he’s saying registers. Four hundred puffs and he’s making the caramel at the lodge. “You’re baking for the party?”
“I am.”
“Don’t they have chefs for that?” And oh my giddy Chenoweth, didn’t that sound privileged? “I just meant, you’re Bellamy’s guest. His brother.”
Michael’s smile is strained. “I’m a guest of Seamus.
Bellamy wasn’t the one who invited me, remember?
And we’re still working on what to call ourselves.
But my new niece and nephews tried one of my cakes a few weeks ago, and when they found out I was coming, they asked me to make something special for their grandparents’ anniversary.
I couldn’t say no to that. Since I haven’t met most of their family yet and as I told you, I’m not that good around people, I thought it might be an icebreaker as well.
” He shrugs. “Or a reason for me to stay in the kitchen and out of the way, depending on how things go. I was going to bring those macarons too until?—”