Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91594 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91594 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
“Soon,” he promises as he glides a finger over my forearm. “I made some snacks. I want you to try them.”
Surprised that he went to the trouble to prepare something for us, I smile. “You made us food?”
His hands glide up my arms to circle my biceps. “Good food. You’ll like it, Summer.”
Something tells me I will, since I like him a lot. “I’m game to try.”
He gestures toward his home. Unlike Mrs. Frye’s house, it appears that the floor-to-ceiling glass doors that lead out to the pool area slide completely to the side, giving way to a wide path indoors from here. My view of the main living area of Joe’s home is unobstructed. It’s a warm and welcoming space with striking wood beams on the ceiling. Area rugs cover the hardwood floors. Shelves filled with books line one wall. A grand fireplace is on the opposite end of the room.
I take a tentative step toward the interior. I feel like a dozen butterflies have taken flight in my stomach. I thought our time together would be restricted to the pool area and perhaps his bedroom. I didn’t contemplate what it would feel like to enter his home to share a quiet moment like this with him.
“What are you thinking about?” Joe asks as he falls in step beside me. “I sense there’s a question waiting to be asked.”
My feet stall as I look up at his face. “Your house is gorgeous. It’s magazine-worthy.”
His gaze leaves my face to trail around the room before it settles back on me. “I’m not sure I agree with the magazine worthy designation, but I like it here.”
I want to ask if he lives here full-time, but that’s more information I don’t need. If I leave East Hampton with the knowledge that I can rent the house next door whenever it’s available, that will signal I want more than a weekend with him. Right now, the thought of this man being my occasional weekend lover is warming me from the inside out, but that situation is too ripe with potential consequences for it to work.
“I can see why.” I slide my right foot forward an inch before pulling it back. “It’s the ultimate East Hampton home.”
He looks into my eyes. “You seem nervous? Are you unsure about coming inside? Do you want me to get you an umbrella?”
I crack a smile at the reminder of my makeshift weapon.
“You’re safe with me,” he assures me. “You have my word that you’ll walk out of my house in one piece when I’m done with you.”
The words and the tone of his voice promise an afternoon I won’t soon forget. “When you’re done with me?”
He nods slowly, his eyes never leaving mine. “When I’m done feeding and fucking you. You’ll leave here completely satisfied. I guarantee it.”
I don’t question that because I sense he’s right. Regardless of how the food he prepared tastes, he’s so skilled in other ways that I could be starving and not notice my hunger pangs as long as his focus was on me in a bed, or a pool, for that matter.
“I’ll prove it.” He chuckles. “Food first, though. Come with me.”
He holds out a hand. I drop mine into it without hesitation, knowing that when I do walk away from this house, I’ll do it with a smile on my face because I’ll be satisfied in ways I’ve never been before.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Holden
I’m not the worst cook in the world, but I’d certainly never label myself as a great one. When it comes to my skills in the kitchen, I’m mediocre at best.
Through a hell of a lot of trial and error, I’ve learned how to prepare an array of foods that appeal to the palate of an almost six-year-old. Rook’s daughter, Kirby, has been the inspiration for my recent interest in cooking, or rather, preparing food.
I can make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with my eyes closed, and scrambled eggs with cheese sprinkled on top are a necessity when Kirby stays at my apartment in Manhattan for a rare sleepover.
That’s only happened a handful of times when Rook’s been bombarded with work, or when he’s wanted to treat his fiancée to an overnight getaway.
After Martin fixed my pool and fucked off, I jumped into my car and headed to my favorite market in the nearest town. I filled up a basket with an array of cheese, meats, and crackers. To add to the charcuterie board I was picturing in my mind, I tossed a jar of pickles into the mix, along with a few different types of nuts and four fresh figs. The final touch was a container of the olive tapenade that the market stocks from a local vendor.
Arranging it on one of the cutting boards I found tucked in the back of a cupboard took the most time. I’m not an expert when it comes to displaying anything, but judging by the look on Summer’s face, she’s mildly impressed.