He groans again, but then bends and whispers in my ear, “Why don’t you tell Ot to get a move on with the food? The sooner they eat, the faster we’ll have you all to ourselves.”
He punctuates the suggestion with a deep, lingering kiss that has my toes curling and my face heating all over again. His husky chuckle follows me into the kitchen where Otley is standing at the marble counter, trays of appetizers in front of him. He looks surprisingly country in his faded chambray shirt with the sleeves rolled back, although his gaze is rueful as I arch a brow at him. “I thought you might be allergic to denim.”
“I own a pair of jeans,” he says mildly, then adds, “But this shirt is Tristan’s, which is why it’s a little tight.”
Tight in a good way, I can’t help but notice as I round the counter. It’s hard to stop myself from breathing in his cherry scent, but then I’m distracted by the platter of food he’s arranging. “Are these…?”
“Book-themed appetizers.” He places the last pinwheel on the platter and pushes his glasses up his nose. “I didn’t know the genre until half an hour ago, so I had to adapt a few things. That’s cowboy caviar,” he says, pointing to a pot of silky dip, “and the charcuterie board we can pass off as saddlebags. I call those cowpokes, queso cups, and cowboy spurs,” he goes on, pointing to mini corn dogs, tortilla cups, and the pinwheels in turn. “The s’mores pots are over there, and I have a cowboy cobbler in the oven.”
I gape at him, unable to hide my shock. “You did all this?”
“Well, Simon gave me a few pointers, but you can blame me if anything is unrecognizable.”
“Otley, this is…” I huff out a breath, lost for words. “I thought you ate exclusively from the Lexington’s menu. Ellis told me you have a picky palate.”
“I do, but…” A touch of color stains his cheekbones and for a moment he doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hands. He finally settles on plucking the pinwheel back off the platter and passing it to me. I bite into it, my eyes widening as the creamy filling dances over my tongue. “I’m learning to cook.” He says it fast, like it’s a secret, and I have to swallow carefully so I don’t choke. Is that a hint of shyness in Otley James’ steel-gray gaze? “One of Lexington’s chefs is giving me lessons remotely. I haven’t told anyone yet, just in case I turn out to be rotten at it.”
The touch of vulnerability is almost as surprising as his delicious pinwheel spurs. “Well, these taste great, so you must be doing something right.”
His shoulders relax, and he smiles as he passes me one of the tortilla cups to try. “It’s easy to try new things here.” His lips curve up an inch as he watches me munch on his queso cup. The tortilla is golden and crispy, and thepico de gallois the perfect blend of zesty lime and jalapeño spice. “It’s good to use a calmer part of my brain for a change.”
I’ve read enough about Otley to know that he’s a ruthless businessman, so I have to tally this up as my third surprise of the night. “Really? I thought it would be too tame for you. Don’t you miss the big city vibes?”
“I mostly spend my time in boardrooms,” he tells me as he washes his hands and then picks up a napkin, scooping some of the gleaming caviar on a toast point and lifting it to my mouth. Unlike the canned bean and sweet corn version I’m used to at potlucks, this cowboy caviar is the real deal, and I can’t resist a small moan at its delicate, creamy flavor. Otley watches me for amoment, his gaze fixed on my lips as I dab them with a napkin. “I like being at home,” he says finally, “where it smells like pack.”
Again, not what I’m expecting from the intimidating alpha. I guess that there’s a lot more to discover about Otley James than my memories from ten years ago and the articles I’ve read. “I’d still like to see what you do for work. Do you think I could listen in on one of your meetings some time? Something that’s not confidential, obviously. I’d keep as quiet as a mouse, so no one would even know I’m there.”
He looks at me suddenly, his eyes dilating behind his glasses. I can still taste the tang of peppers and caviar on my tongue, but now it’s overlaid with the richness of cherries.What is he imagining?Me sitting on his lap while he commands his empire from his office chair?“I’d like that,” he says in a husky voice. “I’ll set something up.”
While I’ve been ensnared by the allure of his scent, he’s nudged the tray of appetizers closer to me, and I chuckle awkwardly. “You keep feeding me, there won’t be any left for the others.”
“I like feeding you,” he murmurs, a small frown forming between his brows. “You keep missing meals.”
Jittery awareness steals my breath. Is food Otley’s way of caring? Is that why he's so involved in Lexington’s? Ellis made it sound like it was just an investment, but he went as far as writing a second restaurant into his investment contract. Planning for the future, according to Ellis. And then there are the dinner trays that keep appearing in my room. Every time I miss a meal, he notices, and sends something up to me.
I stare down at the arrangement of adorable appetizers, and something shifts in my chest, sharp as heartburn, but tingling like anticipation.
“Maybe you could cook for me some time,” I say softly. “One of your new recipes, maybe?”
He waits until I meet his eyes before asking, “Just the two of us? Like a date?”Was that what I meant?The idea makes the jittery anticipation spread through my bloodstream and when I nod, a slow smile softens the sharp planes of his face. “I’d like that a lot, Lily.”
The tips of my ears are still burning as Otley helps me carry the appetizers outside. A country song is playing through a portable speaker and Laura, my other friend from high school, is walking Tristan through a line dance. The wine is clearly flowing, Beau reading one of his favorite steamy scenes out loud as Kaysie and Sarah make room for the platters on the table. Everyone exclaims over Otley’s creative efforts, and I get another glimpse of this complicated man as he accepts their praise with a small, private smile. I can see Tristan’s eyes burning with pride as he slips under his arm, fanning his face with a hat he’s borrowed from Beau. Otley presses a firm kiss to his lips and my friends all smile as they take in the mated pair. I have a sudden urge to step forward and find my own place –between them? beside them?– when Beau gives a low whistle and rises to his feet. He starts to clap, and all eyes turn towards the door as Ellis and Leo step out onto the porch.
If I was feeling warm from the kitchen, it’s nothing on seeing Ellis Castle in costume. Instead of sequined chaps and a sparkly Stetson, he’s wearing a full-length cloak in black leather, the hood pulled up over his long, platinum hair. I know it’s a wig, like I know the smoky intensity of his eyes is from cleverly applied mascara, but it still sends an astonished shiver through me. It’s Ellis, but a version of him I’ve only seen on a seventy-foot screen.
“Holy shit!” Beau gasps. “Is that an authentic Kaliel costume?”
I jolt, because he’s right. I haven’t seen the other movies in the blockbuster trilogy, but pictures of Ellis dressed as theFrozen Throne’self king have been plastered across social media for years. Usually accompanied by fans swooning at the sight of him, or shipping him with other attractive actors in the franchise. Reason enough to avert my eyes, but now I can’t look away, my heart thudding in my chest as he approached with my grinning son by his side.
“It’s still dad,” Leo informs me in a mock whisper. “He said he always packs a few costumes, just in case a bunch of book lovers invite him to their party.”
Everyone snorts at this revelation, but it’s Beau who coos, “Well, take this as a standing invitation, my lord. And feel free to wear anything… or nothing. We’re really not picky here.”
Ellis flicks him a smirk, but his gaze quickly returns to me, and I feel myself almost melt into the arm of the chair I’m perched on. “It'd work better with the elf ears and leather trousers,” he says with one of his playful smiles, “and apologies for confusing the theme, but I haven’t played a cowboy sinceOklahomain middle school.”
“We’re genre-fluid in this club,” Kaysie pipes up, squeezing my thigh. I glance down at her, and wonder if I look as stunned as she does. I mean, weknowEllis is a world-famous celebrity, but seeing him like this is almost like having a real elf king wander into our party. “Although, now that we’ve seen it in the flesh, maybe next month’s pick should be some fairy porn.”
I nudge her in the ribs, wishing she’d cram the rest of her queso cup in her mouth. “It’s fine, Ellis. You look amazing.”
