Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 91295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
“I’d like to paint you,” I blurt out.
A secretive look comes into his face, then he lifts his fork and smiles. “I’d like nothing better.”
A wild joy rushes through my veins, as I follow suit and lift my fork. Larry did not exaggerate. The salad is absolutely, totally, and utterly delicious. My heart throbs so loudly I can hear it, my fingertips tingle, and my tongue is in heaven as I eat my food. It is a strange and exhilarating experience.
Chapter 12
Autumn
I have never seen a man eat in such a dignified way. He loads small amounts of the almost transparent layer of his beef carpaccio onto the back of his fork and slips the meat between his lips. Once inside his mouth, his chewing is almost imperceptible.
Time flies. We speak, but I’m in such a state of anticipation and desire, I can’t even remember what we talk about. The second course arrives, with it comes a different bottle of wine. Red this time, and the label is yellowed with age. Dark-red liquid splashes into my glass. The waiters withdraw and the Count makes a gesture with his open palm to indicate I should try the wine. The first taste is aromatic, seductive, rich.
It appears the Count has ordered the same dish as me, but his is rare. As he cuts into the meat, thin blood seeps through and pools on his plate. Normally, I would shudder to see it, but tonight everything seems vividly beautiful. Even the blood on his plate.
When I cut into the meat on my plate I realize it is not actually well-done at all, but what I would normally call medium. There is still some pink in the middle, but to my surprise, I am not repulsed by it. I have no inclination to send it back for a little while longer in the pan. I cut a small piece and put it into my mouth. The meat is full of flavor and so tender it almost melts in my mouth. It mixes with the lingering taste of tannin from the wine.
“How’s your steak?” the Count asks.
“Delicious.”
“Good,” he says simply.
I cut into a buttered whole carrot. It is not the normal variety. It is small and almost maroon. I chew on the perfectly cooked vegetable. It seems to be richer and more flavorsome than any other carrot I have ever eaten. “This carrot is really delicious too.”
“It should be. It’s a wild South American variety that is grown organically inside a greenhouse. Not a drop of pesticide has been used in its production.”
My eyebrows rise. “Really? Wow, they’re really serious about food here, aren’t they?”
“Yes, Francois, the Chef, is meticulous and uncompromising when it comes to the quality of his food.”
I stare into his cold, luminous eyes and feel that spell swirl around me like a mist. Again, my body fills with desire for him, but he drops his eyelids over his eyes and says, “Eat your food, Autumn.”
I feel myself blush as I bend my head towards my food. I am behaving like a gawky, silly, infatuated teenager. My irritation with myself makes me say the stupidest, most unsophisticated thing I could possibly have said. I want to kick myself even as the dumb words are pouring out of my mouth. “I’m not going to sleep with you.”
His eyes glitter as he gazes at me. “You might want to wait until you’re asked.”
My face burns. “Well, it’s just good to get it out there.”
“Thanks for the warning,” he says gravely, but I can tell he is amused by my gaucheness.
I dig myself deeper into the ground. “Good. As long as both of us understand where we stand.”
“Of course.”
I search for a different topic. “Tell me about you.”
“What would you like to know?”
“What do you do for a living?”
“I have no need to do anything for a living. I have investment portfolios that are handled by capable managers. My time is my own. I read, I hunt, I swim, I climb mountains, I take long walks, I travel a bit, and I have my own charity.”
“It sounds very solitary?”
“It is,” he agrees quietly.
“Don’t you like people then?” I ask curiously.
“Not usually.”
“Why not?”
“One day I will tell you.”
“That sounds very mysterious, Count Rossetti,” I whisper, staring into his hypnotic eyes.
“Call me, Rocco,” he instructs softly, mesmerizingly.
“Rocco,” I breathe.
The air around us changes. His pupils grow so large his eyes appear almost black.
I press my lips together as I try to control the insane reactions inside my body. The way this man looks at me is just crazy. It turns my insides to jelly. No one has ever had this power over me. I literally melt under his gaze.
He picks up his glass of wine and considers me over the rim. “Where would you like to paint me?”