Chapter 6
CHAPTER
SIX
Sultry rhumba music filtered through the front door as Madison let herself inside the house. It surprised her, but not as much as the hundreds of lit votive candles lining the stairs.
She closed the door and fell back against it. The scene screamed Hollywood movie.
Madison looked down at her scuffed high-tops. She wasn’t dressed for this scene…and wasn’t Kyle worried about a fire hazard? They didn’t have smoke alarms in the house—this was Paris.
“Hey!” Kyle said, emerging from the salon. “You’re back. Hungry?”
He was wearing some kind of blue suit that wasn’t navy or light blue.
Even from where she stood, his blue eyes seemed to pop.
No accident, she imagined. His baby blues were one of his best features, the kind that made her mind pause like a video when he looked at her.
His white shirt was whiter than any freshly laundered white tablecloth at a fancy restaurant.
And he was freshy shaved…
God, he looked so damn good. She could only stare at him for a moment, her mind locked in some kind of romance-induced shock. Then heat shot through her, like she’d opened the stove. She wanted to cross the room, grab him by that damn perfect suit, and feast on his mouth.
She started walking toward him, but the ear-grating sound of her high-tops rubbing on the marble stopped her short. “I should…change.”
Rushing to the stairs, she watched the hundreds of candle lights flicker as she made her way to her room.
His sanctuary was down the hall—the proximity of which had been driving her slowly crazy since they’d moved into this place.
His door was open, and she tiptoed over to it to see if he had more candles lit in there.
Were they getting freaky tonight? Technically it was almost Sunday…
His room wasn’t a red room fantasy or anything, but another buttload of candles had the place glowing like the holiday lights in the center of town.
The bed had new linens—yeah, she’d looked into his digs before.
Instead of the usual blues, the duvet and pillows were a plain white that looked as plush as if they were stuffed with the feathers of a hundred geese.
“You want a drink while you change?”
She screamed and swung around, her pulse revving to flight or fight in her chest. “Jesus, Kyle! You about gave me a heart attack.”
He was biting his lip to keep from laughing, the idiot. “Sorry. I thought you heard me stomping up the stairs after you.”
The fact that she hadn’t alarmed her. Usually, she knew where everyone was in proximity to her. Old habit. “I didn’t, and now you caught me snooping. Like a total moron. But I have to ask. Did you get new sheets and stuff for your bed because of me?”
Walking toward her, he lifted the hand she had clenched at her side and fitted a drink into it. Mezcal, she sniffed. “I got them for us. You like white in your decorating—”
“Decorating?” She snickered. “I do white because it’s easy and simple and clean. I honestly don’t know how you made it look romantic. You’ve got skills. So apparently we’re starting tonight, huh?”
She gulped her drink as he leaned against the wall, his hard body on display like a Louvre sculpture, studying her with one of those indulgent Golden Boy smiles. Those destroyed her.
“You know me. I’m always prepared for all eventualities. Tonight was about me welcoming you home and showing you how I’d like to treat you and take care of you.”
Her brain might as well have been tossed into a searing sauté pan. “What?”
“Change and then come down. You’ll see what I mean.”
Then he turned around and left her standing like a Peeping Tom in his doorway. She gulped a splash of her drink and nearly moaned at how good it tasted. The smoke in mezcal always cleared her head. She rushed to her room, throwing open her closet to look for a change of clothes.
God, she could really use Brooke right about now.
Madison had no idea what to wear. She didn’t have the this is the perfect outfit gene some women had.
Her entire wardrobe looked like it came from a funeral parlor sale or a vampire’s closet.
She grabbed the black dress she’d worn to Thea’s wedding since Kyle had made a move on her that night, asking her to dance after requesting one of her favorite Marc Anthony songs.
She’d been stiff as a board then, trying not to touch him because her skin couldn’t handle the sensation.
She gulped down more of her drink, changed, and then looked at herself in her bathroom mirror. Her hair had never been a priority. First, she was a chef, and hair and food didn’t mix. Second, she worked in a hot kitchen where her head sweated, meaning her hair got damp too. So not sexy.
Thank God the cold air from her walk home had dried most of it. She took a towel and rubbed her head to dry the rest. Sure, she looked like she’d just finished being tumbled in the spin cycle, but a little finger combing would make her less insane.
The perfume Nanine had bought her ten years ago for Christmas seemed to be chanting her name. Madison, spritz me.
She was one step away from a straitjacket.
Still, she grabbed the glass bottle and studied it.
Quelques Fleurs Royale. Nanine had clearly inhaled too much gas from the stove before picking this scent for her.
She’d claimed its velvety, alluring nature, paired with its strength and reputation, made it the perfect choice for Madison—an explanation that had made her feel poleaxed.
She certainly didn’t feel velvety or alluring.
Most of the time she felt more like the nickname Nanine had given her—Fifth Course. And cheese stank.
She paused, turning the girly glass bottle over in her hand, and squirted herself. Like she was using a water gun. “Shit. That was way too much.”
She cringed at the scent. God, now she was going to reek like some flower stall jacked up on steroids.
Throwing her arms up in the air, she waved the first assault away, hoping the perfume would lessen in intensity. Otherwise, Kyle’s olfactory senses were going to die a slow death.
After tugging on decent-looking black boots, she marched down the stairs.
Another woman would have sauntered, knowing she was going to get shagged tonight if she wanted.
Madison practically tripped down the stairs in her haste, the flickering candles making her worry about excessive perfume and her clothing’s flammability.
When she crossed into the kitchen, more panic fluttered in her stomach, practically dancing to the tune of the jazzy Latin music playing.
Her utilitarian workspace had been transformed.
It looked like a cozy dining space at the edge of a tropical beach.
A simple round table was set for two, topped with more candles that cast shadows on a tasteful arrangement of bold-colored flowers. The perfect setting for a date…
“You didn’t want to eat in the dining room?” she asked through a dry throat before cursing. “Ah…I forgot my drink upstairs.”
She was halfway to the exit when he called, “No worries. We’ll pour another one.”
Nervous laughter tickled her dry mouth as she turned in a circle, like an airplane who’d missed the airstrip the first time. God, she was so bad at this stuff. “Great idea. So, you seem to have dinner covered. Did you raid the restaurant’s cooler too?”
He turned from pouring her a drink, looking like the kind of hot guy women would fight over on The Bachelor. “Too?”
“Dean swung by. Jacqueline got stranded, so he took Pierre home for a slumber party to keep him company. Great timing, right? We won’t have to worry about him repeating our sex sounds or anything.”
He bit his lip, the way he always did when he was trying to keep from laughing—she did sound like a lunatic—which only made her zero in on his sexy mouth. She wanted to bite it. Along with the rest of him.
“I was wondering where Pierre was, but I figured you’d tell me.” He handed her the drink and led her over to the table, pulling out her chair and making her feel totally weird. “You didn’t say if you were hungry.”
“I can eat.” She glanced around, sniffing, unable to detect any food scents given her perfume-saturated nose. “Did you cook?”
His smile bloomed. “In my fashion. You look beautiful, by the way.”
More nerves scratched at her throat. “You look good too. New suit?”
“Yes.” He wheeled over a covered serving cart she’d never seen before and arranged it across from her. “I thought I’d give you something special, something you might be missing, like speaking Spanish.”
When he lifted the aluminum cover, her mouth dropped open. Then her heart seemed to fall from her chest and land with a splat on the ground. “But…” She glanced over at him. “How…”
“Speechless is good.” He laughed nervously. “I was hoping some Cuban food from Little Havana might make you happy.”
She grabbed one of the pastelitos from the heaping mound next to the Cuban sandwiches and bit in. Guava and cheese hit her mouth and she moaned, closing her eyes. A feeling of pure joy shot through her, the kind she’d experienced when she used to eat them as a kid. How had he known?
God, of course he’d known. This was Kyle—and he knew her. Apparently down to the soft dulce de leche center of her heart.
“Did my New Year’s cake tip you off?” she asked, grabbing another Cuban pastry, this one filled with pineapple.
He was leaning back in his chair swirling his drink, his face lit with candlelight and happiness. “You’ve mentioned missing things lately, and I understand. There are some days I’d kill for Texas BBQ.”