He rummaged in the fridge for fruit salad and several wedges of gourmet cheese. He arranged a tray, pulling bread and crackers from the pantry to accompany the cheese and fruit. And something sweet. Didn’t all women enjoy chocolate?
His housekeeper often left him delectable homemade treats, and this week’s offering was chocolate mousse with a cream cheese topping. There were five individual dessert dishes on the top shelf of the fridge, so he pulled two of the single-serving containers out, added them to the tray and then yanked spoons from the drawer.
Satisfied that he had all the bases covered, and that he’d given Josie enough time to prepare for bed and to get over any nerves she was feeling, he headed back toward the bedroom.
When he walked in, she was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed, and he was absurdly taken by the image of her in his bed. Comfortable, bare feet, like she belonged.
She was wearing silky, hot pink pajamas. Long-legged and long-sleeved, covering her entire body. Buttoned to the neck.
He’d give her this tonight. That barrier. But after this, she would come to their bed with nothing. She’d sleep next to him, her skin against his.
Her eyes widened when she saw the tray he carried and she scrambled up, scooting back off the bed so he could set the tray down.
“Pull back the covers,” he directed. “We’ll get into bed and I’ll put the tray on the nightstand. You can eat in bed next to me.”
She hastily pulled back the comforter and the sheet and even plumped the pillows before crawling back onto the mattress.
As he said, he set the tray down on his side of the bed and then strode toward his closet to strip out of his clothing.
He faced a dilemma, because he never wore anything but boxers to bed. Then he shrugged. It wasn’t as if he was completely nude, and he’d promised her that she’d only rest in his arms. He wasn’t putting the moves on her, so his boxers would do.
When he walked back out, he felt her gaze on him even as she tried to hide the fact that she was watching him. It was adorable the way she peeked from underneath her lashes and the color heightened in her cheeks when he crawled onto the bed beside her.
He offered her the fruit and cheese first and then slipped a glass of wine in her free hand. He offered her bites, enjoying the slight brush of her lips over his fingertips. And she seemed to derive as much pleasure from eating from his hand as he did in feeding her this way.
A dreamy, contented look entered her eyes, some of the earlier shadows chased away as she relaxed. Tension drifted from her shoulders, and they settled, her entire body going slack.
“Hungry?” he asked huskily, entranced by the provocative image she presented.
Finally. In his bed. Just inches away. His body screamed at him to take her, to take what was his even as he mentally chastised it for being an impatient asshole.
“Starved,” she admitted. “I haven’t eaten well over the past few days.”
His expression darkened and anger vibrated once more from his body. “You’ll take better care of yourself from now on. I’ll take better care of you,” he amended.
She smiled. “It’s not solely because of . . . Michael . . . and what happened. I’ve been busy with work.”
He knew well why, but he asked anyway, because it would seem odd not to, and she was offering information, relaxing around him, and he wanted that. Wanted easy communication. No hesitancy or reserve on her part.
“What have you been working on?”
Color tinged her cheeks and he glanced curiously at her.
“I’ve been working on an erotic series of paintings. Not too over the top. Tasteful. Sexy but still classy.”