Chapter 31
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
NATASHA
I nstead of ordering room service, we spent all night tasting each other. It was surprisingly satisfying and…
Fuck me, it was fun. We had a freaking pillow fight, for fuck’s sake. Never once had I laughed during sex.
Or, you know, had a pillow fight. Or wine from the minibar dripped on my belly so Lachlan could lick it off.
Or… I cut myself off before I hopped on for another ride.
Save a horse, ride… Ride the man who truly gets you.
God help me, but every minute I spent with him made it that much harder to hold on to my lingering anger. I was in serious danger of falling for him even harder than I had on our first wedding night.
Hell, between Ella’s wonderful gifts and marathon sex, I’d barely noticed our gorgeous suite. Furnished with impeccable antiques and decorated with soothing shades of cream and peach, it was the most beautiful hotel room I’d ever seen.
Unfortunately, I was starving, and I was sure Lachlan was in the same condition. Rolling over in his arms, I poked him in the side. “Wakey, wakey, chicken bakey. You hungry?”
Grunting, he rolled over to check the time on his phone. “Mm. We overslept. You have about ten minutes to shower before breakfast arrives.”
“Or…” I nibbled the tendon under his ear. “I could shower later and have you for an appetizer. That morning wood looks scrumptious.”
“I believe I’ve created a succubus, but it’s time to get to work,” he murmured. Before I could stop him, he slid from the bed and put on his trousers, hiding my view of his taut ass. “Go shower with hot water, little slave. Put on street clothes.”
“Why?” Hoping to change his mind, I wrapped my arms around his waist and rubbed my aching core against the bulge in his pants.
Without warning, he spun me around and slapped my ass. “Because I said so.”
Scowling, I rubbed the sting from my butt, wondering where my hit first, ask questions never instincts went. “Fine. I’m going already.”
Still grousing, I hurried through my shower and dressed in a pair of jeans and a somewhat rumpled cotton sweater. I smelled the savory perfume of grilled sausage as I opened the door.
My stomach rumbled loudly. Okay, so food first, then jump the hot guy uncovering the steaming plates of breakfast deliciousness.
He held my chair, and I sat, then poked at the strangely pale sausage patty with my fork. “What is this, and why are there baked beans?”
I almost questioned the grilled tomatoes and mushrooms, but they looked too good to worry about whether they should have been served for breakfast.
The beans, on the other hand… I grimaced and considered dumping them on Lachlan’s plate.
“White pudding, and one must have proper beans.” He lifted a spoonful of beans to his lips and his eyes drifted shut as he chewed. “Try them.”
Dubiously, I tried a bite and nearly moaned. Rich with tomato, garlic and onion, the beans practically melted in my mouth. Instead of being sticky with too much sugar, the Irish version was savory and so damned good.
“Good girl,” he murmured. “Try a bite of pudding with them. You’ll like that.”
Focusing on his breakfast, he cut into a fried egg, then swept a triangle of buttered toast through the sunshine orange yolk.
“Note to self.” I ate a grilled mushroom, loving the hint of rosemary and butter. “Learn to make white pudding and baked beans that don’t make me want to gag.”
“And I will eat every bite.” He cut a sausage patty into quarters and ate it. “The white pudding is pork sausage with barley and oats.”
I attacked the eggs, swirling bites of sausage through the yolks. “Way better than stuffed French toast.”
“Do you know why the British call sausages puddings?”
“No clue.” I ate a tomato, then wiped a trickle of juice from my chin. “Also, don’t care. This is really good.”
He chuckled and leaned back in his chair to watch me eat. “It comes from the Middle English word, poding, which refers to a meat-filled animal stomach.”
“Lachlan…” I pointed the tines of my fork toward him. “Don’t tell people how sausage is made. It’s delicious, but nobody really wants to know.”
Laughing outright, he checked his phone for the time, then hurriedly finished eating. “Eat up, love. You have an appointment in just a few minutes.”
“Appointment?” I devoured the remaining mushrooms, using my last piece of toast to scoop up all the saucy goodness. “What appointment.”
“I have a stylist coming.” He leaned over to touch my hand. “They will be cutting your hair.”
* * *
LACHLAN
Natasha’s fork fell to her plate with a clatter as her lower lip quivered.
For a moment, I worried that she’d cry, but she launched herself from her chair and landed in my lap. Cupping my face in her warm hands, she kissed me, then pulled away too quickly.
“You’re trying to drive me crazy.” She rubbed her eyes like a tired child and sighed. “After all these weeks of begging you for a clipper…”
I touched her chin to make her look at me. “You’re not shaving your head, love. The stylist will cut it very short, but I will never permit you to shave it completely.”
“And what will Ronan think?”
“I don’t care what he thinks. If he asks, I’ll simply tell him I let it grow because you’re a very good girl.”
“But—”
“Your gorgeous hair is a trigger for you, Natasha,” I said, my voice quiet, but no less determined. “If you’re worrying about it, you won’t be focusing on Ronan. I understand that now.”
“When did you arrange all this?” She swept her arm toward the room service cart. “Breakfast and a haircut?”
“During our flight while you were sleeping.”
Tears, glistening like diamonds, slid down her cheeks. She swiped them away with the back of her hand, then gave me a watery smile. “And suddenly, without warning, the somewhat stabby heroine of our story decides the asshole hero isn’t so bad.”
“Somewhat stabby?” I slid my hand around her to the small of her back and tugged on the sheathed dagger hidden under her sweater. “Darling, you’re very stabby, and I love that about you.”
Her breath hitched and she swallowed, her throat working as she tried to speak. “I?—”
“Shh.” I silenced her with a gentle kiss. “You will not say it back until those words are the only ones in your mouth. Don’t say it until you feel as if you’ll die unless they can be spoken. Do you understand, little slave?”
A soft knock at the door interrupted her before she could reply, and I couldn’t decide whether to be furious or thankful my guest was a few minutes early. After gently easing Natasha from my lap, I went to answer it.
“Good morning,” A woman with midnight braids and a pink smock smiled at me. “I’m Lindy, the stylist you scheduled.”
“Come in, please.” I held the door for her, while she bustled inside with a satchel and what looked like a folding director’s chair.
She spread a large white sheet on the floor, then set up the chair in the center of the fabric. After laying out scissors and combs, she asked, “Who will be going first?”
Natasha’s cheeks pinkened and she gave me a smile before clambering up to sit in the tall chair. “Me. I need you to shave my head.”
Smiling sadly, Lindy wrapped a hairdresser’s cape around Natasha’s shoulders and fastened it. “A stylist dies a little inside when we have to shave such gorgeous hair. Are you sure?”
Although Natasha’s hair was beautiful, if having it cut off made her more confident, then she would wear it short—as long as she wasn’t completely bald. I didn’t want either of us to have the reminder of our ugly past.
“It grows.” As if knowing I’d protest, she added. “Don’t shave it completely. It just needs to be short enough that nobody can grab it.”
Lindy studied her for a moment, then nodded. “All right. Let’s get started.”
Lindy worked quickly, and I tried not to look at the soft, brown curls falling to the sheet. In no time, she turned Natasha to face me, revealing a precise fade that highlighted Natasha’s chiseled jaw and truly suited her heart-shaped face. Lastly, Lindy groomed her eyebrows.
With her big brown eyes and pointed chin, Natasha reminded me of a wee pixie. Ronan would be entranced.
I scowled at the thought and wished I could make Natasha wear a veil. I could pass it off as being a Master’s wishes, but the obstruction to her vision would handicap her.
Holding a mirror for Natasha, Lindy asked, “Do you like it?”
“It’s perfect. And thanks for taming the unibrow.”
“It was my pleasure.” Lindy gathered her things, and after giving us a friendly nod, left the suite.
Leaving the coffee service for later, I cleaned up the remains of our breakfast and pushed the room service cart into the corridor, then closed the door before engaging the security bolt.
“Yay!” Before I could turn, Natasha threw herself into my arms and went straight for the button on my trousers. “Alone at last.”
Wishing we had more time; I pushed her arms to her sides. “Kneel, slave. You may not speak.”
The brief flash of hurt crossing her face almost made me relent, but we had barely half a day to perfect our performance. Gentling my tone, I laid my forefinger over her lips. “We have to practice, love. I need to know we can do this together, and most importantly, I have to make sure you’re safe.”
She graced me with a soft smile, then kissed my cheek before lowering herself to her knees.