And done for purely selfish reasons, Jason thought as he took the chair across from her. He liked having her all to himself. Although he wasn’t a tea drinker, he had become one and looked forward to visiting her each week to sit down and converse while drinking tea. He enjoyed her company. He glanced over at her and their gazes connected. Their response to each other always amazed him because it seemed so natural and out of control. He couldn’t stop the heat flowing all through his body at that precise moment even if he wanted to.
He doubted she knew she had a dazed look in the depths of her dark eyes or that today everything about her looked soft, feminine but not overly so. Just to the right degree to make a man appreciate being a man.
She slowly broke eye contact with him to lift the lid off the platter and when she glanced back up she was smiling brightly. “Spaghetti.”
He couldn’t help but return her smile. “Yes. I recall you saying the other day how much you enjoyed Italian food.” In fact they had talked about a number of things in the hour he had been there.
“I do love Italian food,” she said excitedly, taking ahold of her fork.
He poured wine into their glasses and glanced over and caught her slurping up a single strand of spaghetti through a pair of luscious lips. His gut clenched and when she licked her lips he couldn’t help but envy the noodle.
When she caught him staring she blushed, embarrassed at being caught doing something so inelegant. “Sorry. I know that showed bad manners but I couldn’t resist.” She smiled. “It was the one thing I always wanted to do around my parents whenever we ate spaghetti that I couldn’t do.”
He chuckled. “No harm done. In fact, you can slurp the rest of it if you’d like. It’s just you and me.”
She grinned. “Thanks, but I better not.” He then watched as she took her fork in her hand, preparing to eat the rest of her spaghetti in the classical and cultured way.
“I take it your parents were strong disciplinarians,” he said, taking a sip of his wine.
Her smile slowly faded. “They still are, or at least they try to be. Even now they will stop at nothing to get me back to Savannah so they can keep an eye on me. I got a call from my attorney this morning warning me they’ve possibly found a loophole in the trust fund my grandparents established for me before they died.”
He lifted a brow. “What kind of a loophole?”
“One that says I’m supposed to be married after the first year. If that’s true I have less than three months,” she said in disgust. “I’m sure they’re counting on me returning to Savannah to marry Hugh.”
He sipped his wine. “Hugh?”
She met his gaze and he could see the troubled look in hers. “Yes, Hugh Pierce. His family comes from Savannah’s old money and my parents have made up their minds that Hugh and I are a perfect match.”
He watched her shoulders rise and fall after releasing several sighs. Evidently the thought of becoming Mrs. Hugh Pierce bothered her. Hell, the thought bothered him, as well.
In a way he should be overjoyed, elated, that there was a possibility she was moving back to Savannah. That meant her ranch and Hercules would probably be up for sale. And when they were, he would be ready to make her an offer he hoped she wouldn’t refuse. He knew he wasn’t the only one wanting the land and no telling how many others wanted Hercules, but he was determined that the prized stallion wouldn’t fall into anyone’s hands but his.
And yet, he wasn’t overjoyed or elated at the thought that she would return to Savannah.
He got the impression her parents were controlling people, or at least they tried to be. He began eating, wondering why her parents wanted to shove this Hugh Pierce down her throat when she evidently wasn’t feeling the guy. Would they coerce her to marry someone just because the man came from “old money”?