Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 109562 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 438(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109562 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 438(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
“I have a bag,” I mumble, pushing past him.
“I’ll give you some privacy,” he says to my back. “I’ll wait in the lounge. I can carry the bag down when you’re done.”
Biting my tongue before I tell him to take a hike, I yank an overnight bag from the closet and start packing.
He doesn’t ask what’s in the bag or make a suggestive comment about my personal items as I expected when he escorts me downstairs to the car.
We drive to his place together. I’m still not talking to him, and he’s absorbed in his phone.
He only speaks again when we arrive at his house. “Would you like to have a shower while I fix dinner?”
“Yes,” I say, grateful to escape.
He gets out of the car and comes around to open my door. “Go ahead. I’ll bring your bag upstairs.”
I don’t let him invite me twice. I rush up the steps and past the men stationed on the porch.
One of them lets me in.
I mumble a thank you and dart upstairs where I lock myself in the bathroom. It takes a long, warm shower and another while before I’m more or less calm again.
When I step out of the bathroom, dressed in a loose-fitting dress, a delicious fragrance of tomato and basil reaches me. At the smell of the tomato, my mouth waters. I suddenly have an absurd craving for tomato soup, which I never liked.
Following the appetizing smell, I go downstairs. Saverio stands in front of the stove with his back turned to me, stirring something in a pot. He’s still dressed in his fancy suit pants and white dress shirt, but he removed his jacket and folded back the sleeves of the shirt.
“Grab a seat,” he says without turning around.
He didn’t see me. I’m wearing socks, so he didn’t hear me enter either. “How did you know I was here?”
“I have sharp senses.”
Going to the island counter, I sit down on a stool. “I suppose sharp senses are indispensable in your business.”
He flashes me a disarming smile from over his shoulder.
My heart gives a funny little jerk.
“I’m making homemade marinara sauce,” he says. “Think you’ll be able to stomach spaghetti?”
“It smells delicious.”
He carries the pot to the counter and puts it on a cork plate. “It’s my mother’s recipe.”
“Was she Italian?” I ask carefully.
His reply is curt. “Yes.”
“Did you learn to speak it?”
“She tried to teach me, but she didn’t have the energy when she got sick. I remember only a few words.”
“Like tesoro?”
I noticed he sometimes calls me that when he’s angry. Otherwise, he reverts to the English treasure. I’m not entirely sure how I feel about his pet name for me. I’m still undecided if it’s an endearment or patronizing. Maybe it’s a little of both.
A smile warms his eyes. “Yes, like tesoro.”
Suddenly uncomfortable with discussing the pet name he chose for me, I change the subject. “You really do know how to cook.”
Taking a spoon, he dips it in the sauce, blows on it to cool it, and brings it to my lips. “What do you think? More salt?”
For a change, I’m starving without being nauseous. I’m just about salivating for anything with tomatoes.
I close my lips around the spoon, and then I almost moan in ecstasy. I swear it’s the best tomato sauce I’ve tasted. The oregano and basil are subtle and the salty-sweet taste of the tomatoes not too overpowering.
“Mm.” I lick my lips. “This is good.”
His gaze homes in on the action, his eyes darkening as he withdraws his hand and puts the spoon on a plate. “I’m glad you approve. The pasta is almost ready.” He rounds the island station, turns my seat so that I’m facing him, and plants a palm on either side of me on the counter, effectively caging me in between his arms. “While we wait, how about we practice our public appearance?”
“Practice?” I say, my breath catching in my throat.
His pale blue eyes roam over my face, the light in them serious even as a playful smile tugs at his lips. “Let’s see if we can push things a little further than a touch on the shoulder.”
“Further?” I mumble like a parrot. “Further like how?”
“Like a kiss.” He fixes a heated gaze on my lips. “How would you react if I kiss you, Ms. Brennan?”
As I stare at his mouth that’s mere inches from mine, my heart starts to gallop in my chest. I freeze, my words drying up. I’ve kissed enough men in my twenty-three years, yet the prospect of pressing my lips against his does something to me that messes not only with my mind but also with my body.
Maybe it’s because he’s so far out of my league and I’m completely out of my depth. I have no idea why I don’t move when he ever so slowly lowers his head because he’s giving me ample time to react, to pull away, to say no. Yet I don’t. I do nothing, nothing at all, and when he brushes his lips over mine in the softest of caresses, it’s as if fireworks go off in my belly.