The rapid change from sensual to pragmatic gives me whiplash. “Um, I have a dress, yeah.”
“Wear it for me.” He bends to take my lips in a much-too-brief kiss. I reach up to caress his neck, but he pulls away, his smile down at me a tantalizing taunt. “I’ll go get dinner started.”
“You’re cooking?” I sit up, breathing a little easier without this big man standing between my legs.
“I’m full of surprises,” he calls from the hall. “Come down when you’re ready.”
I’m tempted to masturbate in the shower because the desire is so keen, but I want to save it all for him. I’m surprised I don’t sizzle as soon as the water hits my skin. I’m pretty sure this is the most turned on I’ve been in my life.
I’m still soaked between my legs from imagination and my nipples are so tight, they’re stiff beneath the bright yellow sundress when it melts over my body. I don’t bother with a bra, tying the halter dress behind my neck and letting my breasts peak beneath the silk. I also forego panties because that just seems like a waste of time. The dress is muslin-thin, clinging to my ass and hips. I sincerely hope he can see the shadow of my pussy in the right light. Irefuseto be hornier than he is, dammit.
When I come down the steps, he’s in the kitchen and dressed in a button-up and slacks.
“When did you change?” I ask, coming up behind him and slipping my arms around his waist.
He turns, leaning against the counter and splaying his hands low on my hips, brushing against my ass. He stiffens when there’s obviously nothing beneath the dress. When he looks back to me, the glow of desire in his eyes is worth all the trouble I’ve taken not only with my appearance tonight, but yesterday’s beauty triathlon. I’ve been waxed, scrubbed, and exfoliated more than a season’s worth of Bacherlorettes. If he likes to lick toes, mine have been buffed and manicured. When he wants the cat, I’m slick as a Slip ’N Slide down there. And should he feel so inclined to eat ass, nary a hair survived that Brutal Brunhilda wax-a-thon I endured on all fours at the spa. I’m ready foranything. I’ve practically been in training for this.
“When did you change?” I repeat, since he seems to have lost his train of thought as soon as he saw my nipples headlighting and realized I’m wearing zero panties.
“Oh.” He clears his throat, tightening his grip at my waist. “There’s a shower down here, so I changed while I put the food on.”
“I didn’t know you could cook.” I force myself to step out of his arms, though I could stay there all night, and look at the salad with its vividly colored vegetables on the counter.
“My mother would not send me out into the world unable to cook at least a li’l something. I know my way around a grill.”
“Oh.” It occurs to me that we have never talked much about food. “I don’t eat red meat.”
“I know. They always make sure to have an alternative for you with our crafts foods order.”
“Oh. Yeah.”
“That night on the roof, you got shrimp, and on Thanksgiving, you ordered fish.” He looks over his shoulder to the patio and the grill. “I hope salmon is okay? You had the salmon crepes so…”
I’m awed that a man as busy as he is, working on the movie of a lifetime, would pay attention to such fine details and my preferences.
“Uh, salmon is great. Thank you.”
“You hungry?”
I nod, and he takes my hand, leading me out to the balcony. The sun hasn’t quite set, still deciding between day and night. We’re at that golden hour—a photographer’s dream.
“You’ve been busy down here,” I say, smiling at the table on the balcony, set with beautiful china and glassware, lit by candles. Soft music pipes in from invisible speakers.
“It didn’t take much.” He pulls my chair out.
“What a gentleman,” I say, glancing up at him over my shoulder when I sit.
“We’ll see if you still think so by the end of the night,” he says at my ear, kissing my neck where the dress is secured.
I catch his hand, hold him in place. “I’m notthathungry. We don’t have to wait.”
“I told you I have plans.” He chuckles, pulling away and sitting across from me. “We’ll get there.”
I want to go all Willy Wonka Veruca Salt and tell him I want it now, but that didn’t end so good for her. I can be a little patient a little while longer. I pick up my fork and slice into the food he prepared. Canon Holt cooked dinner for me.
Chewing, he points his fork at my face. “What’s that smile about?”
“I was just thinking that I’ve never had a famous director cook for me.” I take a bite of the salmon and groan. “And it’s actually delicious.”
