“Ah.” I nodded. “It smells amazing.”
Jett finished his concoction while I decked the table and steered the conversation toward the history of the house, which was the safest topic I could think of. Eventually Jett ordered me to sit down as he opened a bottle of white wine and poured two glasses, handing me one.
“Here’s to a new business venture.” Jett raised his glass to mine, and we chinked.
“And to a new job.” I took a sip. Although I couldn’t usually tell the difference between one wine brand and the other, even my inconsequential taste buds picked up a hint of gooseberry and apple. “This is good.” I took a generous sip and forced myself to put down the glass before I ended up drunk and generous, like the last time I mixed alcohol with Jett.
“It’s a Fume Blanc,” Jett said. “My favorite with fish. Dive right in.”
He gestured at the plate before me. I plunged my fork into the fish trimmings, tiny shrimps, scallops, and clams atop a pasta nest, and rolled a few bands with the help of my spoon, then pushed them into my mouth, chewing slowly. The aroma of fresh pesto spreading over my tongue almost made me moan with pleasure.
“It’s delicious,” I said, licking my lips.
Jett’s eyes wandered to my mouth and his gaze turned a shade darker. Self-consciously, I wiped my fingers across my lips, and then put my fork down, my appetite slowly dissipating at the lust in his eyes.
“Do you have any idea how hungry I am, Brooke?” he said so low I had difficulties hearing him. He wasn’t talking about the food and we both knew it. I swallowed hard and took a gulp of wine to moisten my dry mouth. It didn’t help.
“I—”
Holy cow, the guy knew how to turn up the heat. My whole body was on fire, and he hadn’t even touched me yet. Well, not physically. His eyes were doing all the work. I should be playing hard to get. But for once in my life I didn’t want to. I was in a different country, stuck in a beautiful villa with a bottle of wine and a hot guy who knew how to make a woman feel special. Sylvie always said a bit of danger never hurt anyone. Well, why not have it all? Life’s too short and I had nothing to lose anyway.
Jett’s gaze moved down my neck to my chest, then back up again, lingering on my mouth.
“More wine?” he asked hoarsely. At my nod, he stood to refill our glasses. His fingers touched my hand, sending delicious electric impulses down my spine. I gasped and bit my lip to stifle the sudden need pooling between my legs. In one swift motion Jett captured my face in his hands and pressed his mouth against mine. His lips melted into mine, and then his tongue slipped inside my mouth, pushing, probing, circling my tongue in a slow and erotic dance. Fire spread through my body and gathered in my abdomen, waiting to erupt like a volcano. I pressed my thighs together to intensify the aching sensation that could take me over the edge.
“Brooke,” Jett moaned into my mouth. The tone of his deep voice with the slightest hint of a sexy Southern accent vibrated inside of me, tugging at the right cords. His palm moved to my neck as our tongues entangled one more time before he let go. Leaving us both breathing heavy, he returned to his seat, his eyes fogged over with lust.
Don’t stop.
If there wasn’t a table between us, I would have clung to him, begging him to finish what he started. But there was the table. And reality.
Thank goodness for reality.
It kicked in pretty hard and fast. Drawing a long breath, I folded my shaky hands in my lap and gazed up at him. His burning eyes were shaded by long lashes that brushed his tan skin as he closed them for a second.
“We should eat. Dinner’s getting cold.” As though to demonstrate his point, he retrieved his fork. I watched him take a bite, and then wash it all down with half a glass of wine. “Aren’t you eating?” he asked, not looking at me. His voice seemed slightly detached, as though he didn’t know how to deal with the situation, which was strange coming from someone who had presented me with a no strings sex agreement.
I wasn’t hungry, at least not for food, and yet I nodded. It was rude to leave the food untouched when he had made the effort to prepare it.
Taking a bite I forced myself to chew slowly. “Where did you learn to cook like this?”
“You mean where did I learn to prepare more than the contents of a can?” He looked up with a strange glint in his eyes. “Let’s just say I wasn’t always who I am now.”
“You weren’t always rich?” The question slipped past my lips before I could hold it back. Luckily, my directness didn’t seem to irritate him.