I giggle and roll my eyes. “You’d think you’ve never seen a girl enjoy her food before.”
“I love watching you enjoy everything. It’s a sight to behold.”
“Blarney.” I shake my head and then drip sauce down the front of my shirt. “I’ll just save that for later.”
“You’ll be out of that shirt soon enough, so it won’t matter. But I can have it cleaned for you if you like.”
“No, it’s no biggie. I’ll wash it when I get home tomorrow.”
He nods and takes another large bite of pasta. “So tell me more about yourself.”
I frown and shrug. “I’m not terribly interesting. I think I already told you the highlights.”
“You’re fascinating,” he disagrees and takes a sip of water. “Why don’t you speak to your parents?”
I lower my fork to my plate and wipe my mouth with my napkin. Do I talk about this with him? I rarely talk about it with anyone.
“This is a sordid story for another time,” I reply.
“There’s no time like the present,” he replies, catching my gaze. “Talk to me.”
I watch him for a long moment and then shrug. “I don’t speak to my parents because they’re both alcoholic assholes who enable each other and were always more interested in being in an liquor-induced coma than paying attention to their only child. I don’t respect them. I worked my ass off in high school so I’d have scholarships to go to any school I chose and left the day I graduated.”
I wait for the change. The disgust. The pity. But he just takes another bite of food and watches me thoughtfully.
“Those sound like good reasons.”
I nod and look down at my plate, my appetite suddenly gone.
“My parents weren’t alcoholics,” Jacob says quietly. “But after my brother died, they lost themselves in their grief. They divorced. Father lives in Paris. Mother stayed in London. I was mostly raised by housekeepers. I was too old for a nanny.”
My eyes meet his, and in this moment I’ve never felt this kind of connection to another human being. There is no pity or disgust.
Just understanding.
“Are you about ready for dessert?” He smiles gently and I know that I could easily fall in love with this man.
“Ready when you are.”
chapter 8
He stands, pulls a freshly corked bottle of champagne from a bucket of ice, and uncovers a bowl of strawberries. “Follow me.”
“No glasses?”
“We don’t need them.” He leads me into one of the spare bedrooms and sets the bubbly and berries on a bedside table before turning to me. “I will make love to you in my bed tonight, but first we’re going to make a mess and I won’t have you sleeping in that.”
“Good plan.”
“Remove your clothes, Grace.” There’s no please at the end of the sentence, as it’s not a request. It’s a command, one I’m perfectly content to obey. I slip my sweater over my head, then shimmy out of my jeans and stand before him in just my bra and panties. He cocks a brow. “You’re not fully undressed.”
“You could help with these.”
“No.”
Now it’s my turn to cock a brow and turn my back to him. I unclasp my bra and let it fall to the floor. All he can see is my naked back, and I hear him chuckle at my stubbornness as well as his own clothing rustling. Next I hook my thumbs in my panties, slowly working them over my hips and down my legs to step out of them.
“Turn around.”
I do and about swallow my tongue when I see his magnificent naked body standing before me. His erection is thick and heavy. His body is golden and firm, with little hair, and in the soft glow of the lamp beside the bed he reminds me of a Norse god.
“You are beautiful,” I whisper. His eyes flare and he reaches for me, lifts me into his arms and kisses me silly as I wrap my legs around his waist, his cock nestled against my core.
“I’m going to tease you in the most delicious of ways,” he murmurs softly as he pulls the covers back on the queen-size bed and lays me down gently. He plucks a strawberry out of the bowl and bites into it, then offers me the other half while it’s still propped in his teeth. I take a bite and as the juices flow down my chin, he kisses me, lapping at the sweet juice.
“Mmm . . . Grace and strawberries. Delicious.”
I grin and watch as he reaches for the champagne. “This is going to be cold,” he warns softly as he tips it over me and drizzles just a light stream of the cold, bubbly wine down my torso, between my breasts to my navel, then leans in and licks it up, nibbling and tugging on my skin.
“Jacob,” I breathe, and writhe beneath him.
“You’re right, that was rude.” He chuckles and tips the bottle, pouring just a sip into my mouth. “Another strawberry?”