Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 78164 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78164 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Fuck.
“Want to try one?” he asks, returning the empty shell to the salt bed.
“Absolutely.”
He reaches for a new oyster and loosens the insides. “You don’t want to swallow right away.”
“Says every man I’ve ever met.”
He laughs. “If you chew a few times, it’ll help you savor the flavor.” He leans toward me, holding the shell across the tabletop. “Come here.”
I hitch a breath as chills race across my skin. He’s going to feed me?
The candlelight casts shadows across Tate’s face, making him look even sexier. But now, with his proximity and attention squarely on me, his attractiveness is potent.
There are no distractions and no secondary storylines. His phone is out of sight. He hasn’t looked at his watch once. He’s here with me in every way, and that’s intoxicating.
I part my lips as his eyes blaze. My mouth waters, but it’s not for the food.
Tate slides the oyster onto my tongue.
The hit of flavors and textures is powerful and unexpected, as is the warmth of the dish. A rich, creamy sauce mixes with a soft brininess, adding layers of flavor to the buttery topping. But the biggest sensation, the one that steals my breath, comes from Tate’s fingers brushing across my bottom lip.
His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, his eyes glued to my mouth as I chew. Other diners and staff surround us, but they all fade into the background. The moment is wildly intimate. I’m stripped of everything—my clothes, walls, and excuses. And instead of being uncomfortable, self-conscious, or overthinking like usual, I feel powerful.
Tate is reacting like this to me. Wow.
“How did it taste?” he asks, a smirk playing against his lips.
“Warmer than I anticipated and not as salty.”
He sits back, amused.
I laugh. “It was good. Very interesting flavor, but I like it.”
“Did you know that the flavor of oysters is predetermined by where it’s harvested?” he asks.
“No. How do you know that?”
“One of my brothers worked in Australia for a while. I visited him, and we learned a lot of things late one night at an oyster bar.”
“Did any of those things require an antibiotic?”
He laughs, his eyes twinkling. “Fortunately, no.”
“Excellent. So aside from sketchy interactions with shellfish, what else do you do for fun?”
Tate places some carpaccio on his plate. I take a few options from the charcuterie instead.
“What do I do for fun?” he asks, repeating my question. “Honestly, when I’m not working, I like to be home. Most of my friends are married or getting married, so I’m kind of the lone ranger of the group.” He takes a bite of his food. “I’m learning to be the fun uncle instead of the fun friend. It’s a process.”
I spread some honey on a piece of cheese. “I like being at home, too. I love decorating, so I start at one end of my house and work through each room. Once I’m done, I return to the beginning and do it all over again. It can be an expensive hobby.”
“I’m terrible at decorating. I just put out a bunch of candles and call it quits.”
My eyes narrow suspiciously. There’s no way this guy has a closet full of candles, but I’ll give him credit for, once again, listening to what I said on the plane and using it to his advantage.
“What about you?” he asks, shifting in his chair. One sleeve pulls back just enough for me to glimpse his thick forearm. “What else do you do for fun?”
You, preferably.
“Oh, I don’t know,” I say, picking up a berry. “I like to cook, I guess. Nothing fancy. I’ll see a dish on television, grab the ingredients, and see if I can recreate it—usually with substitutions that ruin it.”
He smiles. “My girl Mimi likes to cook.”
Mimi? I nod as if a streak of jealousy didn’t just rip through me.
“Mimi is my brother’s wife’s grandmother,” he says, winking.
I chuckle, knowing damn good and well that he just noticed my reaction. Again. I wish that hadn’t happened, but it’s too late now.
Sean appears again with our entrées. I side-eye the appetizers that we’ve barely touched.
“You’re on it tonight, Sean,” Tate says as his steak is placed before him. “This looks great.”
“The kitchen is on it tonight,” Sean says, setting my chicken before me. “I’m just the deliveryman.”
“Well, you’re an excellent one,” I say. “This looks amazing. Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome. Can I get you anything else?”
Tate looks at me for approval.
“I’m good,” I say. “Tate?”
He smiles and turns to Sean. “Thank you. I think we have everything we need.”
“Perfect. I’ll swing back by in a few and check in with you. Enjoy.”
I sit back and study Tate as he takes a drink. He’s such a peculiar man. Attractive, of course, but also equally kind. His manners and genuine respect for Sean, as well as for me, are surprising.