Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 59983 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59983 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
I capture her in a kiss again, showing how this doesn’t make a difference to me. “And I didn’t know my son could be stupid enough to let someone like you go.” In case she gets the idea I want to take my son’s place, to be her man and start something serious—something I don’t make time or effort for in my life—I stand and lift her with me. Once she’s on her feet, I take her hand and squeeze it. “I think we agreed on breakfast.”
She seems surprised, smiling sweetly. “I think it was dinner, actually.”
I stride toward my pants to pull them on. “I suppose we were distracted then.”
“I’ll say.” She pulls her gaze from me and turns to go. “Breakfast it is.”
Musing over the fact that I slept with my son’s ex, I wonder if she’ll revert to that shyness downstairs. Viktor routes a call to me, though, and I take it before I go down to eat. Feeding Liliana is my priority, but as I listen to the report from one of my supervisors, work takes precedence. It always does. I step out of my room to pace the landing and listen. Viktor is staying in his quarters on the other side of the mansion, giving me space, but this isn’t anything I can hand off to him.
I’m later than I want to be when I come down the stairs. To my surprise, Liliana’s made herself useful in the kitchen. A full spread of food is set out.
“You made this?” I ask, hearing how stupid it sounds the moment I step into the large kitchen.
“No. I ordered it in,” she replies with a sarcastic tease. No one’s on the road out there. The pots and pans in the sink are proof of how fast she whipped up breakfast.
“Hmm.”
She sits, ready to dig in, and using her foot, she slides another stool at the island out to me, a silent invitation to join her.
“You made all of this?” I ask as I sit, once again hating how simple I sound.
“Yeah. What? Are you used to something else?” she asks before taking a bite.
Yeah. I fucking am.
It’s not that she made food for me. It’s that she took the initiative to make food at all. For herself. She’s self-sufficient, which is sexy as fuck after only ever meeting women who rely on hired help to get through life. She’s competent, too, which is obvious the second I take a bite of eggs and have to fight back a groan. And she’s so laid-back about having made me a meal at all.
It’s then that I realize how used I am to people like Elena looking at me and expecting me to provide. Relying on me to have Viktor reserve a table or order around their particular dietary demands. Being on the receiving end of a home-cooked meal shouldn’t feel this remarkable, but it does. Sometimes it’s the small things that matter so much more.
“This is amazing,” I admit as I eat, stunned that my son could’ve ever let her go. That he could have ever been so stupid to lose her.
“Eh.” She makes a face. “The pancakes could use a little more vanilla.”
I smile, amused that she can be so candid about critiquing her own results. Not out of shame or embarrassment, just an open acknowledgment that she could improve.
I’m too busy eating to speak with her, but as we get through the food, I can’t help but observe how hungry she is. A woman with an honest-to-God appetite. Unafraid of carbs. It’s so strikingly different from any of the flings I’ve had since I divorced Elena twenty years ago. And I know this can’t be unique to Liliana just because she’s young. It’s just who she is. Unapologetically herself and not seeming to care that she’s with me, a man the entire city bends over backward to impress.
Fuck.
She’s getting to me, getting under my skin. All because she made us breakfast.
No, that’s not it.
It’s because she’s not expecting anything of me.
It’s because she’s so responsive to my touch and so sweet on my tongue.
Like she’s made for me.
Viktor strolls into the room, wide-eyed with comical surprise. “What is all this?” He looks at me.
“This is her masterpiece.” I gesture at Liliana.
“Masterpiece?” She rolls her eyes. “This is nothing.”
Viktor brings his incredulous gaze back to me.
“Don’t just stand there,” I tell him.
“Yeah. It’s getting cold.” Liliana stands to get a plate prepared for him. Not as though she’s a servant or cook, but a woman with the natural need to nurture and feed someone.
He sits and watches me with a silent question in his eyes.
I smile around another bite of food, knowing he’s got to be so shocked at this domesticity that feels like instinct.
She fusses with the coffee machine, muttering about it being too complicated, and Viktor gets up to point out what she’s doing wrong. While they manage that, I get a call and hate that I need to excuse myself.