Chapter 7 #2
"What do you mean?" Sweeping past her, he went into the living room where she had built a cheerful fire and placed the enormous vase on the mantle.
"Usually when a man buys a woman flowers, it means that they have done something to merit the task."
Moving past him, she went to the mantle to admire the bouquet. He had gone with several varieties, some of which she could not identify.
When he came up behind her, she leaned into him and closed her eyes. His arms wrapped around her, soothed and enticed all at the same time. She was going to have to break it off, but she was going to enjoy him for now.
"I just wanted to show my appreciation for your beauty."
Tilting her head, she stared up at him and felt the familiar jolt to her senses. "Flattery?"
"Fact." He kissed her forehead.
"Have you eaten?"
"Is this your job now? Feeding me?"
"Absolutely," he responded smoothly. "Now answer the question."
She smiled at his arrogant tone. "No, not yet."
"Let's order out, unless you want to go out and have dinner."
She shook her head. "I have a better idea." She turned in his arms.
"I will cook us dinner."
He lifted a brow and felt his heart thudding. "Oh? She cooks." He grinned when she poked him in the chest.
"I damn well do." Going on her toes, she touched her lips to his and would have moved away, but he clamped his hands around her waist and took the kiss deeper.
When he lifted his mouth from hers, they were both shaken to the core. Leaning his forehead on hers, he breathed in and fought for control.
"You undo me," he admitted hoarsely. It sent awareness tumbling through her and almost had her suggesting they skip dinner.
"Let's cool off. I'm planning on making Chicken Alfredo and a garden salad." Easing away from him, her body still hot, knees shaking, she turned to leave.
"What can I do?"
She turned at the doorway, smile unconsciously alluring.
"That's a good question. A rich guy like you, what can you do?"
He sent her a pained look before strolling towards her. "Why don't we find out?" Grinning at her squeal, he hauled her into his arms and carried her the rest of the way.
It felt good and right, she thought several minutes later as she prepped the meat and watched as he sliced and diced tomatoes for the salad. He looked so adorable concentrating on the task as if he was searching for a cure for cancer.
A lock of sable brown hair had fallen over his forehead and the urge to brush it away stunned her.
They talked about inconsequential things.
The upcoming spring benefit in town. The trip she had taken to the market and the curiosity of a small town.
She told him of her encounter with old busybody Martha Steeple who was over ninety and still going strong.
"She asked you about your marital status?" He looked over as she coated the chicken with herbs.
"And what I was doing in Birchwood. At the same time, she wanted to introduce me to a grandson of hers."
"Jeremy Steeple. Proud owner of a small grain store." Kenneth grinned as he dumped the shredded lettuce into a bowl.
"She made certain to tell me that as well. She called me a beautiful black woman."
"She would. Martha is the town's busybody and all-around fount of information. She used to box my ears when I was little."
"She didn't." She shot him a horrified look.
"She did." His grin widened as he sniffed the air. The chicken was already sending up tantalizing scents around the room.
"It never mattered to her that I was Kingsley Tierney's son.
She caught me sneaking out of the theater one day I should have been in school and collared me.
I was afraid of her." He finished the salad and sat to watch her stir the chicken.
She was wearing purple leggings with an oversized white shirt.
The sleeves were rolled up to her elbows, and she had on silver bracelets.
"What did you do?"
"Nothing." Sliding off the stool, he opened the fridge and took out the wine she had there. He had not remembered to pick up a bottle on his way here.
Taking out the stopper, he set it on the counter to breathe while he dug up glasses. "Did I mention I was terrified of her? And I was ditching classes to go and watch a movie. My parents would have given me grief."
He found the glasses and poured the rich burgundy. Crossing to her, he handed her a glass. Leaning his hip on the counter, he studied her over his glass.
"We've still yet to take in a movie."
Putting the glass down, she turned to attend to the chicken, but more to steady her nerves. He consumed her. That was the word she had been searching for.
"Yes."
He came up behind her, and she had to force herself not to stiffen in reaction. He wrapped his hands around her waist and sniffed at her neck.
"You smell better than the meal."
"I doubt that." She forced herself not to squirm or move away.
"The food is almost ready. We should set the table."
He turned her to face him, cupping her face between his hands. "What scares you?"
"What?"
"About me. About us."
"I don't know what you mean. We should..."
"I think I've proven to you several times that I care. That I want this, want you in my life."
"You don't know what you're talking about." She moved out of his hold.
"You don't know me."
Tamping down his frustration, he decided it would be prudent to wait until they had their meal.
"I'll do it." Brushing her aside, he took the utensils and went to set the table.
Aria had to take several deep breaths to steady herself. She could not tell him about her past or what brought her here. In silence, they set about finishing the meal and sitting at the table.
"I was a little anxious about your claim to be a cook." He grinned as he sampled the chicken.
"But you passed the test."
"Why, thank you." She was relieved the tension had subsided. She hated being at odds with him even for a little bit.
"I don't do it often, but when I do, I do it well." Picking up her glass, she glanced at him, her eyes twinkling.
"You make a good salad. Can you do anything else? Or like a total rich guy, you are completely useless in the kitchen."
He grinned, enjoying this time with her. "Completely useless. We have a chef and a housekeeper who rules the house. They're mostly off on the weekends, but we're hardly there anyway. On holidays, we try to spend it as a family." He shoveled in more chicken.
"Mother insisted on it when she was alive.
No matter where we had to go for business or pleasure, we had to be back home to spend the time as a family.
We dared not disobey. So it stuck. My uncle makes a mean grilled steak, and my dad is good at baking a turkey.
Mostly during the holidays, we are sprawled out in the entertainment room, catching a game and having beer and burgers. "
"Entertainment room?" she asked with lifted brow.
"Hmm." He scooped up more chicken with relish.
"Big ass room with every available gadget. Huge screen, pool tables, dart boards, video games, and the like. And of course, popcorn machines, soda fountain and snack and wet bar."
"Sounds like fun."
He trained his eyes on hers. "It is. You'll get the chance to see all of it on Sunday."
Her hand jerked. "I don't know what you mean."
Putting his glass down, he leaned across the table. "My dad invited you to dinner on Sunday."
She had to take a deep fortifying breath. "You're going to have to make my apologies."
His eyes sizzled, but he kept calm.
"Not good enough."
"Look..."
"No." He shook his head, lips tightening.
"I've waited patiently, telling myself that she needs more time to sort things out. But no more. I want you to meet my family."
Deciding she had had enough food, she pushed away from the table. Before she could rise, he clamped his hand over hers.
"You had no right..."
"I have every right." Taking a deep breath, he fought to control his frustrated anger.
"Please talk to me. I want to know what's going on."
For a minute, she sat there staring at him and he felt fear that she would brush him off as usual.
"Let go of me."
"No. No." He shook his head.
"Please, Lydia..."
"I'm a lawyer," she blurted out.
"What?"
She blinked and avoided his eyes. "You wanted to know what I do, did. I'm a lawyer, corporate."
"I see." His hand relaxed and he allowed her to move her hand and rise, clearing the table to give her something to do.
"I decided to take a break." She dumped the plates in the sink and came back for the bowl.
"I'm not sure if I will ever practice again."
He rose and stopped her when she went towards the sink and turned her to face him.
"You did not like it?"
She laughed at that, a humorless sound that touched him.
"I loved it. The contracts, meeting with the clients, the whole works. But something happened." Her hands clenched on his chest.
"Something bad that I'm not prepared to talk about. I can't talk about it, not yet and if you cannot accept that..."
"I can," he interrupted her softly. Removing his hand from her arm, he tilted her chin up.
"I can," he repeated. "Whenever you're ready, I'm here. That's what I want you to know. I'm here. Please say yes to dinner on Sunday. I want to show you off."
She stirred against him. "They're going to ask questions..."
"I'll make sure they don't." He brought her up against him and embraced her.
"I promise."