Chapter 14
14
ZARA
After three weeks apart, Jobe is back, and my thoughts are all over the place. Do I want to go home and have the sight of him tempt me to imagine all the ways he can pleasure me? Ignite my ovaries like no other man can? How can I hate a man and yet be equally attracted to him? And now said man wants to take me to dinner.
God help me.
It is easier to despise him.
Instead of going straight to the penthouse after work, I head to the old-time pub in Piccadilly to clear my head. I love this pub. It reminds me of the carefree feeling I had when I arrived in London. Before I reach the bar, I recognize Oscar standing with another guy.
“Big O,” I call out and then hug him.
Oscar introduces me to his friend, Baron, as Hollywood. Baron appears unimpressed with my intrusion and leaves us to head outside and stand with the other suits on the sidewalk.
“Did I offend him?” I ask.
Oscar shakes his head. “He’s an old flame. One I shouldn’t rekindle,” he says as though he’s already resigned to the fact he will.
“So it was perfect timing?”
“Something like that,” he offers with a laugh. “How have you been?”
“Okay. I need a drink to clear my head before going home.”
“Are you still at that overpriced hotel?”
“No. I’m living with… it’s complicated. Give me a minute.” I order a drink and down some of my gin before continuing. “Do you remember the guy from LA?”
“The jealous one?”
“Not jealous, bossy.”
“Okay, let’s run with that… you’re not living with him ?”
“We made a deal. I help him out, and he gives me somewhere to live since he’s only in London once a month. He lives in a penthouse by the Thames, so I think I got the better deal.”
His eyes fill with worry. “What did you have to do?”
I love that he’s concerned for me. “Be his fake girlfriend for a few dates.”
He shakes his head. “He’s not faking it, Hollywood.”
I laugh as though it’s a joke. “Oh, he is. We barely like each other. I don’t want to go to his penthouse tonight because I don’t want to argue anymore. If we can avoid each other for the few days he is here, then we’ll fight less.”
“Fight?” His brows arch. “Do you want some advice?”
I pop a shoulder. “Move out?”
“Fuck him. ”
I laugh. “I tell him to fuck off all the… oh, you actually mean, fuck him?”
“You both need to get it out of your system. Then you can move on. Friends. Friends with benefits. Whatever. But this angst between you is obvious, and there’s only one way to fix it.”
I shake my head. “Are you high? It’s not happening. He can’t stand the notion of touching me.” The one time he did turned him off for life.
“The time he barged in here, the sexual tension was obvious even to me. If it doesn’t mean anything, you’ll know soon enough.”
“I think it would be a big mistake, and I still don’t have anywhere else to live, sooo…” I pop my shoulder again. “It won’t happen. Besides, my best friend is married to his brother, and it is freaking weird that I’m even talking about this.”
“It’s not weird, Hollywood. I mean, what’s the worst that can happen?”
I let out a long breath. “It happened once when we were drunk. I don’t remember much of the night, and I assume neither does he. It’s like it never happened, or I was so bad that he never wants it to happen again. I’m…” I stall, thinking of the right words, “… pastel compared to his vibrant world.”
“Have you seen him with anyone else since?”
I shake my head. “I heard the rumors before I jumped into bed with him.”
“He doesn’t bring women back to his penthouse with you there?”
I shake my head again. “We made a pact. We’re faking this relationship for a business merger. The businessman he is dealing with believes integrity, honesty, and commitment come from a personal attribute, and a sworn bachelor for life is untrustworthy. The man has contacts, so we need to act the part all of the time . No drunk dancing with random men.” I wink at him.
“He’s besotted by you, Hollywood. No guy would go that far with a girl he didn’t care about.”
Oscar’s expression is one of understanding. His big, gentle eyes tell me it’s okay to have feelings. “I think it’s more frustration. With me.”
He chuckles to himself. “He’s frustrated for sure. Blue balls will do that to a man.”
“Eww.”
“Besides, I don’t think I could ever tell my best friend, and we tell each other everything. It’s…” I shake my head, “… I can’t explain it.”
“You can be each other’s dirty little secret.”
“Well, thanks for the advice, but I still believe you’re wrong.” I down the rest of my gin and notice Baron making his way toward us. “I should leave so Baron can make his move.”
“Unlike you, I have no willpower.”
I laugh at Oscar. “Then have a good night, my friend.” Pushing up onto my toes, I kiss Oscar’s cheek. “See you next time.”
I head out of the bar, past all the suits gathered on the street, and head to the Tube. Getting off at Westminster, I walk the few blocks to Jobe’s penthouse, and when the elevator doors open, I hold my breath, unlocking the door.
What do I say to him?
The first thing I see is a shirtless Jobe in the kitchen. I can’t help but stare at his broad, muscular back. Jobe in jeans… it’s as though he has peeled a layer back, showing me a rawer version of himself. A version my stupid hormones adore because my stomach flips in excitement. Shit .
He spins and sees me. “Evening, Zara. You’re just in time.” He focuses on flipping vegetables in the frypan.
I can’t help but watch as he holds the pan, his muscles flexing in his arm as he gently shakes it, tossing the vegetables. It’s something so simple yet it lights a fire in my body. “It smells good.” It’s so good that I’m drawn to sit on a stool by the counter and drop my bag on the floor. “What are you cooking?”
“Ahh, my secret recipe.” He rounds the counter and takes my hand in a handshake of sorts. “I apologize for my behavior before I left. I treated you poorly, and it was unacceptable.”
I smile at him. “I appreciate your saying so. But if we’re going to spend time together, it’s best we don’t fight.” And for the love of God, put some clothes on.
He gives me a nod and lets go of my hand. Immediately, I feel the space between us.
“We’re different, and that’s okay,” I say in an attempt to explain why we butt heads.
He turns to me and leans both elbows on the counter until his face is close to mine. Unable to look away, those dark eyes make me his prisoner. “Different in a good way or bad?” he asks.
“Good, I guess.” I back up, needing to create space. “You’re different.”
“Different to you?”
I nod. “Very different to me.”
“It sounds like a bad thing?” he says in a low, deep voice. “I think we need to be honest with each other.”
“You sometimes make me uneasy.” He frowns. “Nervous. You’re a lot.”
He grins at me. “Part of me is.” That deserves an eye roll. “I don’t want to be that person to you. We’re friends, right?”
“Friends?” I raise my eyebrows. “Is that what we are? ”
He reaches out and takes my hand in a gentler way than before. “Do you want to be friends?”
My breath quickens along with my heart rate. What is he asking me? “Of course, I want to be friends with you. Your brother is married to my best friend, so it makes sense for us to be nice to each other.”
He holds my gaze as though he’s waiting for me to say more. He pushes up off the counter and walks around to me. “This is me being nice.” He unrolls the tie on the counter. “May I?”
“This is the part where I get nervous.” My voice quivers, and my damn heart won’t slow down, sending my senses into overdrive.
“Relax, I’m going to blindfold you and give you a taste. I want you to guess what you’re eating.”
Oh no, no, no. His tie around my eyes sends the wrong message, diverting my stomach and straight down to my pussy.
“You’re going to feed me?” I squeak. Warmth creeps up my neck. I’m losing control here, and I need to be in control around Jobe. “It’s random, especially for you.”
“Not random. Spontaneity is not my friend.”
“I know, ” I say, exaggerating the word. “It’s why this is random.”
“I planned the four courses this morning. Considered how to make it fun.”
Fun? It is… seductive. “Okay. If I’m out of my comfort zone, then I think you should also be tested.”
“I cooked the food, Zara.”
“Not that. I’m going to ask you a question with every dish. You have to answer honestly. I can’t see you, so I won’t be able to tell if you’re lying, but I’ll hear it in your voice.” He ties the soft material over my eyes, and I take a slow breath through my nose, though it does nothing to calm me. “ This doesn’t count as one, but…” my breath hitches because this feels an awful lot like foreplay, “… have you done this with other girls before?”
His answer doesn’t come quickly, causing my body to tense. “No…” He pauses, and while his answer should bring relief, I’m still on edge.
I’m not sure what to do with my hands, so I carefully sit on a stool, reaching for the edge of the marble counter and grip hard. Tilting my head, I listen as he handles the cutlery and pans. “Open your mouth, Zara,” he commands, and I do.
The aroma of basil and parsley hit my senses as he places the fork on my tongue. I close my lips as he slides it out, leaving something warm and soft in texture. It’s a little chewy, and I’m not sure if I swallow or continue chewing as it’s definitely seafood. Not oysters, clams, maybe. The notable flavors include tomatoes, basil, seafood, and…
“Are you ready for some more?”
I nod. “Please.”
My mouth is open, waiting. It feels odd, yet I like it. A lot.
The fork touches my tongue, and I close my lips as he slides it out. I sense his eyes on me, watching every little detail. How do I look to him? Imagining how his eyes are on my mouth, my hormones send the wrong messages to my brain.
Calm the hell down. Now.
Mmm… potatoes and rice soaked in the seafood broth and combined with the tomatoes and herbs.
It’s a sensory overload.
“Do you like it?” His voice is a soft hum as though he’s enjoying it as much as I am.
“I do.”
“Do you want some more? ”
“Of course I bloody do.” More food, more of Jobe’s seduction skills. I’m here for all of it. I can’t see him, but somehow, I know he’s smiling at me.
“Bloody hell, ay. She’s already talking like a Brit.” He gives me another taste.
I cover my mouth with a hand as I smile and swallow the delicacy melting on my tongue. “I’m ready to guess.”
“Go ahead.”
I tell him, and then he spoons more into my mouth. “What else?”
“A touch of cream.”
“Round one to you.”
I grin like a kid after an Easter egg hunt. “Next.” I turn in the stool so it’s easier for him, and his thigh bumps my knee. He is so close. Too close.
I open my mouth and wait, but then I feel like an idiot and shut it again. What is he doing? He’s right there, yet nothing is happening, our heavy breathing echoing around us. The suspense is killing me, and I want to tug at the blindfold.
Finally, his fingers touch my chin, and I open my mouth, no verbal prompt necessary. A nutty, creamy texture jolts my taste buds. The food is again of soft texture… mushrooms. And truffle. Is it truffle butter? “Wow.” It’s all I can say.
Fingertips brush my lips, and I open again. This time, I taste pasta, soft and smooth. “I’m picturing myself in Italy. The Amalfi Coast.” I lick my lips, savoring the salt residue. “A type of pasta, mushrooms, truffle, parsley, a broth, maybe chicken or vegetable, and some sort of cheese.”
“You’re cheating somehow.”
I giggle. “I’m not. I should have been a food critic.”
His fingers graze over my lips, but I keep still, fighting the urge to shift. My mouth slowly opens, his fingers lingering on my lips, and I allow him to touch me in a way that sends messages south.
“A flake of parsley,” he whispers.
He doesn’t need to explain because, damn, I like this game. We’re not doing anything sexual, yet it’s as intense as foreplay. I imagine him leaning in and kissing my lips, a gentle brush, a delicate kiss.
A groan escapes, and I stiffen.
“Are you okay?” he whispers in my ear.
Fuck. Is he leaning over me? I lay my hands in my lap and splay my fingers to sense if he is near. He presses on my hands, pushing my fingers flat to my thighs.
“No touching,” he says close to my ear, sending shivers up my spine. He is turning me on, and he knows it.
Breathe.
Not too deep because it will sound desperate. “Have you ever been in a relationship?” I say in a breathy whisper. How can a man be so attentive and distance himself from love?
“One in high school.”
“Did it end badly?”
“No. I ended it. I felt constrained. Too many rules. She had expectations. No point in making promises you can’t keep. Open,” he says as the food touches my lips, and I quickly obey. Opening my mouth, it’s meat, soft and tender. More herbs. A hint of citrus. Some sweet potato.
I chew carefully, considering his words. Too many rules.
“Persian style lamb. Now, do we get to eat because I’m hungry for more?” I’m so hungry for him that I need the food to distract me from the equally delicious Jobe Hendricks.
A gentle hand lands on my shoulder. “Patience, Zara. What dish did you enjoy the best?”
“I can’t choose because I loved all of them.” And how it was served .
He is leaning close. His arms brush past my shoulders, and then I sense him between my thighs.
Good God.
Will he kiss me?
His hands are at the back of my head, and he’s standing between my thighs instead of standing behind me. I swear it’s a ploy to rattle me. The tie slips off, and I’m left ogling his bare chest. Rounded pecs that I could easily lick if I leaned slightly closer.
Slowly, I allow my gaze to slide up to his beautiful face and meet those dark brown eyes. He’s watching me intently, and I’m unable to look away. My heart flips with a longing I know I shouldn’t be feeling.
There is a sexual magnetism to Jobe, a self-confidence that he knows what he does to me.
I swallow hard. “That was only three dishes.”
A slow grin parts his lips. “Right. We’ll eat, and then I’m saving the best for last.”
What could be better than what I just experienced? I feel fucked by food, and I’m tingling all over. “I’m already sated,” I murmur.
His sexy eyes dance at my response. “Don’t be so easily satisfied, Zara.”
I huff. “I am, so the bar is low.”
His brow furrows. “Raise the bar.”
I flinch. “Are we talking about sex?”
“We’re talking about life,” he says in a low voice. “And sex.”
Oh boy. “So I lied. I’m starving. And you can take that any way you want.”
His hand cups my cheek, and his eyes linger on my lips. “A problem I need to rectify.”
“Rectify away,” I whisper.
Jobe steps back, and the air separates us, leaving a chill in his absence. My stomach falls in disappointment when he walks around the counter and stands by the stove to prepare our dishes.
Visually, the food is not as appealing as Jobe’s naked torso, and suddenly, my appetite has nothing to do with the meal he’s serving.
My ass is numb.
I’ve been sitting at the counter for God knows how long, eating everything Jobe puts in front of me. He leans on the counter and watches me as he eats. I already told him he is a genius in the kitchen. I should clarify he is a genius at seduction, and I want more.
We have finished a bottle of red, and I’m tingling all over.
“When am I getting the fourth dish?” I tease. I’m full and don’t need any more food, but a girl is curious when told there is hype around the save-the-best-to-last dish.
He unties his apron and folds it before placing it in a drawer. Then he leans over the counter and clinks his glass with mine. “Are you ready for it?”
It?
I drop my gaze to his pecs bulging before my eyes. I’m overheating again, and not from the thermostat setting. Speaking of… “If you turned the heating down, you could put some clothes on,” I note as I peel the jacket from my shoulders.
“Or you could take more off.” He quirks an eyebrow.
He is definitely flirting.
“The rule, you can look but not touch. Is that for you or me?” I take another sip and wait for his expression to give me something. He straightens and pours another glass of wine. I wait a few more seconds before I add, “I guess it’s for both of us. You didn’t want to touch me with clothes on.” I straighten in my seat. “And while I’m here admiring all of this…” I circle my hand around him, “… we both know it’s a bad idea.”
Jobe turns and prepares something on the other counter. “Remind me again why it’s bad, Zara?”
“Um… because of your brother and my best friend. What do we tell them?”
“Why is it any of their business?”
“Penny is my best friend, and we tell each other everything.”
“I think I rank higher with Frank being my brother, and he doesn’t need to know anything unless I wish to tell him.” He places a bowl of ice cream and something else in front of me.
“What is this?”
He fires up the coffee machine.
“Ice cream and Nutella.”
He spreads Nutella around the top edge, makes a hole in the center of the ice cream and pours half of the shot of coffee into it. Then he picks up the spoon and mixes it gently, scooping it to the edge and collecting some of the smooth, nutty goodness. He then comes to sit at the counter beside me.
Jobe raises the spoon, and it touches my lips. When I open my mouth, he pulls the spoon back. Licking my lips, I let out a sigh when I taste the coffee shot mixed with ice cream and hazelnut. “You’ll regret it if you deny me this.”
He smiles and places the spoon in my mouth.
I close my eyes, savoring the flavor. “It’s divine.”
Jobe scoops some more and places the spoon upside down in his mouth, drawing it out slowly, watching me watch him as we give in to the craving of wanting the sweet pleasure in our mouths.
The divine food, the expensive red wine, the stolen glances, the seductive stares, and now finishing with a decadent dessert, the coffee is giving me a boost. “I’m not going to sleep tonight,” I whisper. “I have caffeine sensitivity after midday.”
He withdraws the spoon from his mouth, licks the edge, and then places it over my lips as if to silence me. “Who said anything about sleeping?”