Page 112 of Trouble from Abroad
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
mia
Someone is ringing the bell.Paying closer attention, there’s knocking too.
“That’ll be lunch. Time to feed you,” he says, then wraps a towel around his waist. It’s too much to ask of the poor thing to hide his erection.
“You’re not answering the door lik?—”
He turns to me, full teeth on display. Abs too. “I’m sorry, you were saying?”
“Absolutely nothing.” I splash some water around and avoid his eyes. I willnotgive him the satisfaction. Even though it looks like he already took it.
“Baby?”
“Hmm?” I answer, but face Central Park.
The smile in his voice is giving me serial killer instincts, since I don’t think killing him once would be enough to soothe my annoyance.
“I’m really enjoying getting to know you.”
I turn around, mad and confused, and find him halfway to the door, with the added layer of asoggy robe.
He’s not playing fair at all.
I take the opportunity to climb out of the pool and wrap myself too. I should prance right next to him and see how he feels about that, but I’m far more concerned with how I’ll look for him when he comes back.
Preston lays out the spread of food on one of the loungers, the little side table not standing a chance.
There’s, of course, my burger, plus fries, a T-bone from some pre-historic creature, since no cow is that big, sea food that smells good enough to teleport me to an island, a gorgeous salad I probably won’t touch, a rainbow of roasted veggies, and dips galore. There’s also a tray with six silver iced lids that I don’t dare peek under yet.
“Oh my God, this is too…” I glance up, eyes softening. “You are too much, Pres.”
“Not even close to what you deserve. I told you one of today’s lessons was to spoil yourself. Now sit.” He points to the other lounge chair.
“What? You’re really going to feed me?” I joke. He misses it.
He feeds me a fry, and I moan. His fingers brush my lips, and I swoon.
“You keep being this good to me, and I might get used to it,” I murmur, mid-bite.
He lifts a brow. “You think I’m doing this just for you?”
“I think you need to stop altogether. The attitude, the words, or we won’t finish this meal.”
He goes for my heart with his next sentence. “I don’t think I can. But more importantly, I don’t want to.”
I don’t think he’s talking about the feeding. So I open up for more, because neither do I.
We eat in silence, except for the unavoidable moans when I try the buttered lobster and all six desserts. We change into fresh robes and share a lounger; I rest my head on his shoulder while he traces every contour of my face with his fingertips. Even with my eyes closed, I feel his prying stare, and it’s overwhelming. As if my eyelids are not protection enough. So I break the spell the best way I know how.
“I still can’t believe I’m here. Being pampered”—I scrunch my nose up to his chin—“and thoroughly fucked by the silver fox.”
He backs up laughing. “The what now?”
“Silver fox. Oh, man. I’ll have to educate you, if you’re really willing to read some of my books.”
“And re-enact them. Don’t forget.”
