3. Savannah
Chapter Three
SAVANNAH
My life doesn’t stop.
I’ve been up since five this morning. I’ve had a meeting with the bank manager about extending the loan repayments to pay for my college tuition. Then I pitched Snowflake Botanicals to a hotel in town, who said they needed to speak to their big boss before they made a decision. And before that, I cleaned two houses.
When I arrive at Weston’s place, I’m frazzled and my feet feel like rocks. Before I go inside, I pile up all the stray curls on top of my head and clip them in place, then add a slick of lip gloss.
I’m being ridiculous. I’m sure the big, gorgeous billionaire was just passing time by kissing his over-eager new cleaning lady while trapped in his state-of-the-art safe room. Still, I haven’t seen him for two days and I’ve found it hard to think of anything else. Yes, he’s gorgeous. But there was something else. The way he focused his attention on me was hypnotizing–like I was the center of the universe. I’m more used to being an afterthought, not the main attraction.
Leaning my bike against the wall, I key in the code at the back door. The scent of herbs and onions fills the air. I follow the sound of clanging pans into the kitchen.
Weston is wearing a frilly blue apron printed with photos of teddy bears. He raises his hand as he pours boiling water into a pan and adds salt.
“Hi. I like your apron.”
“Thank you. I think the previous owners left it behind. I don’t blame them. It’s horrible, isn’t it?”
“It’s kinda cute. Shall I start upstairs and leave you to it? Smells great, by the way.” I’m finding it hard to hold his gaze. As soon as I set eyes on him every nerve in my body started twanging.
“No. I’d like you to take a seat, Savannah.” He gestures to a chair at the high counter.
Darn. This is the part where he fires me.
“White or red?” He raises a thick, dark eyebrow.
“Excuse me?”
“Wine. Would you like white or red wine? Or there’s some champagne. I have a fully stocked bar, we have everything. Even that horrible chartreuse stuff.”
“Um. Red, please?” At least I can have a drink in my hand when he tells me I’m fired.
“Great choice. This is Chateau Margaux. I’m a French wine snob, I’m afraid.” He pours me a glass.
“Thank you.” I take a sip. “I don’t usually drink during the day. Especially when I’m working, but this is delicious.”
“You’re not on the clock.” He leans on the counter.
“You can cut to the chase. I get it.”
“Get what?”
“I’m fired, aren’t I? For setting off the alarm, locking us in the safe room, and just being the biggest doofus in Snowflake Falls. I appreciate the wine, but you don’t have to soften me up. I’m tough.”
Weston tilts his head to one side. “I’m not firing you. I’m cooking you lunch.”
“You are? Are you feeling okay?”
“You work so hard, I thought you might enjoy an afternoon off. Cooking is how I relax. Do you like pasta?”
“Is the Pope Italian?” I shrug.
He grins and my stomach flips. “We’re having spaghetti carbonara with some garlic focaccia and green salad. Tiramisu after.”
A tiny, scruffy-looking, one-eyed cat eases through the open window and meows. Weston puts cat food in a dish and sets it on the floor.
“Is he yours?” I ask.
“He is now. He arrived on Monday, tapping on my window. I think he must be a stray. I’ll take him to the vet tomorrow to see if he’s lost.”
“There’s a shelter up in Bakersfield. But I have to say he looks pretty happy to be here. Does he have a name?”
Weston smiles and my heart melts a little. “Patch. Not very original but I needed a name suitable for a tiny pirate. Now, tell me more about your business.”
I talk him through how Grandma taught me to find herbs when I was a kid, the college course I did, and then how I got the idea for the business. He listens attentively while he fixes me a big dish of pasta, grating parmesan liberally on top, and topping up my glass with wine. I’m so hungry that I can’t help making appreciative sounds while I eat.
“This tiramisu is out of this world. Thank you, Weston.”
“You’re very welcome. Come next door and put your feet up.”
I laugh. “Last time I was on a sofa with you we got ourselves in a tricky situation.”
He smiles and takes my hand. “I’m up for a situation with you. What do they call it? A situationship?”
“I’m not even sure what that means. But if it involves another meal like that, then I’m all in.” I squeeze his big hand as we go next door. The food and wine are making me reckless. I’m used to looking after other people’s messes. To be the one who’s taken care of for a change is impossibly seductive.
When we’re sitting on the plush velvet sofa, he looks over. “Can I take your shoes off?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I should have taken them off when I came in. I was distracted. Or is this some kind of weird foot appreciation thing?”
Weston grins. “Anyone who works as hard as you deserves a foot rub.” He unlaces my sneakers and peels off my socks.
“Can you not look too closely at my feet? They’re neglected and overworked. And…not very dainty.”
“You have dancer’s feet. And you work too hard.” He gently squeezes my instep and I moan.
“Wow. That feels…incredible. I don’t have a choice, I have to work hard. Paying back my college tuition is the goal. For the next five years, anyway.”
“Can I give you a raise?” He expertly massages around my heel.
“No way. It’s not that kind of situationship, but I appreciate your offer. Do you do this with all your cleaning ladies?” I lean my head back against the plush cushions and close my eyes.
“Only you.” His voice is low.
The rhythmic rubbing and the two glasses of wine I had with lunch makes me doze off. When I wake up, it’s starting to get dark outside and I’m covered in a blanket, with a pillow behind my head.
I sit upright as Weston enters, holding a glass of water.
“The cleaning! How long have I slept?”
“A couple of hours. And the house is still spotless from when you cleaned it before. I’ve done the dishes. You deserve a break, Savannah.” He walks over and hands me the water, then sits next to me and brushes a curl away from my face.
“Can I ask why you’re being so nice to me? I’m not used to this kind of treatment from my employers, you know…”
“Because I think you’re smart, beautiful, funny…and you deserve a break. You run around Snowflake Falls taking care of other people and maybe you need a little taking care of, too.”
I lean against his big, capable frame. “I like the sound of that, but it’s a fantasy. The real world doesn’t work like that.”
He hugs me, whispering into my neck. “Maybe it does. Try letting me take care of you.”
“Why would you want to do that?” I raise my head to meet his gaze.
Instead of answering, he tilts my chin up and kisses me. His mouth moves on mine and I moan again as heat rises in my core. My breathing is ragged as his tongue explores every inch of my mouth, his hands moving from my back to cup my breasts. Liquid heat pools between my thighs as he brushes his fingers over my peaked nipples, which are poking through the thin material of my T-shirt.
He pulls my T-shirt up and kisses down my neck in slow, deliberate movements. Pulling down the lacy cups of my bra, he groans as my breasts spill out.
“You are so gorgeous, did you know that?” His voice is gruff.
Brushing his fingers across my nipples again, he licks each one and then sucks as I arch my back into the cushions. My hands tangle in his dark hair as his licking and sucking gets more insistent. Lost in the moment, I sweep my hand to the side to clutch the sofa and knock over the water glass on the table. The icy water brings me back to reality and I sit up.
“What are we doing?” I pull the T-shirt down. My body aches for more of Weston’s touch, but I push him away and stand up. My chest is heaving and my cheeks are hot.
“Are you okay?” He frowns.
I shake my head. “No. I don’t know what this… situationship is but it’s messing with my head. You’re a billionaire, I’m your cleaning lady. It’s never going to work. And I like you. A lot. So…”
“That’s a problem, how?”
I find my sneakers and jam my feet in them, tying the laces haphazardly. “Don’t you dare sweet-talk me! Thank you for lunch. And the massage. And the nap. And…”
He folds his arms across his chest and looks up at me, a slight smile on his face.
“And don’t do that Mr. Handsome thing with me, Weston. I gotta go.” I don’t give him time to reply, sprinting out of the room like I’m in the Olympics.
Once I’m outside, I take a huge gulp of the cool September air. Every cell of my body is screaming for me to go back inside and climb Weston like a tree. Instead, I straddle my bike and pedal away from the house like my pants are on fire. Which they are. This is all getting tricky.
Very, very tricky.