“As a matter of fact,” he replies, while setting out our dinner, “I don’t remember the last night I spent with a woman. They tend to get too attached, make assumptions, and it’s just best all around if we don’t make a night of it.”

I inwardly cringe. Don’t ask a question you don’t want the answer to, Grace. I put on a brave smile and change the subject.

“You spoiled me today,” I say softly. “Thank you.”

“Did you enjoy it?”

“Oh yes. I’m all buffed and polished and soft now.”

He grins wickedly. “I can’t wait to see that for myself. But first . . .” He uncovers the plates and transfers them to the table. “I ordered us both pasta with Alfredo sauce and salads. I hope that’s okay.”

“Sounds great. I’m starved.” I sit and dig in with gusto, moaning when the Alfredo sauce hits my tongue. “Dear sweet Jesus, that’s good.”

“Keep making those sounds, love, and I’ll carry you to my bed straightaway.”

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?”

He repeats the process from before, enjoying the red fruit with me, kissing me as we chew it, then pouring more wine on my belly.

“You’re fucking delicious,” he growls before pouring a small splash onto my pussy, sending my hips bucking into the air from the cold and the sensation of the liquid against my clit. He sets the bottle on the floor and dives in, lapping at my lips, gently tugging them with his teeth and sucking them again. He licks up to my clit and pushes two fingers inside me, finding my sweet spot.

“Oh fucking hell,” I whisper, lost to him and the delicious things he’s doing to me.

“That’s right, love. God, you’re bloody sexy.” I love how his accent thickens when he’s turned on. “Look at how pink your pussy is. How swollen.”

“My turn,” I whimper. God, I want to drive him as crazy as he’s making me.

“Your turn?”

“Fuck yes, I want to torture you for a while, Sir Baxter.”

He chuckles as he kisses up my body, settles in to suck, nibble, and generally torture my nipples, then kisses up my neck to my mouth.

“I think you’re stuck to me now,” I whisper against his lips. The champagne has turned sticky. He slowly peels himself off me and then flops onto his back and I reach for the strawberries.

I nibble the end off, then trace the fruit over Jacob’s nipples and navel. The juice runs down his sides but I don’t make a move to lick it up. Not yet.

“I like making a mess,” I murmur with a wicked grin.

“So I see,” he replies. “Are you going to clean it up?”

“Eventually.” I grab the champagne and tip it over his torso, drizzling it gently over his nipples and down to his navel. I lean in and lick around his navel, drink the champagne, and then nibble my way up to his nipples, sucking them gently. I reach down, grab his hard cock in my hand and give it two firm pumps, then brush my thumb over the tip and feel a bead of wetness.

“You like this.”

“I fucking love it, darling.” His green eyes are on fire as he stares down at me, watching me devour and explore his body. I move onto my knees at his side and push my ass in the air as my lips travel down the trail of hair to his cock. His hand cups my ass and rubs it softly, then slaps it firmly before caressing it again. “Your ass is brilliant.”