He looks handsome as usual, his dark hair perfectly tousled, beard perfectly groomed, teeth perfectly white. He's always so put together and I so rarely am, I wonder if the constant effort takes its toll. Dark grey pinstripe trousers hug his gropable butt, and he's wearing a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, because of course he has the forearm porn for it.Drool.
“Shari, Amour, you look deliciously wicked. I love it,” he playfully nips the air near my shoulder. This is definitely a new side of him, but I'm not complaining. He starts swaying with me in his arms, softly singing Stevie Wonder's My Cheri Amour, but changing it to My Shari Amour, making me giggle.
“You look very handsome yourself, Jake,” I play with the fine hair at his nape. “But first, what is that delicious smell? I'm absolutely starving!”
“That,” he punctuates with a boop on the end of my nose, “is cheesy hasselback potatoes just finishing up in the oven, alongside some asparagus and roast carrots, and I'm about to start frying the sirloin. How do you like your steak?”
“That all sounds incredible,” my stomach growls its agreement. “And medium, please.”
“Oh Shari, no. Rare is the only way to eat steak. You'll see,” he smirks. “I’ve opened a bottle of Sangiovese as it's really the only wine you should drink with steak. It's been breathing for a while so feel free to pour us a couple of glasses,” he nods towards the small glass-topped dining table by the window.
“Oh, do you happen to have any rosé? Or just anything with less tannins? Sorry, I don't mean to be a pain, I just really struggle with reds and I believe Sangiovese to be really dry.”
With his back still turned I can't see his reaction, but he's silent for longer than I would have expected and his shoulders seem tense. He eventually clears his throat, and giving me his profile he says, “I’m sorry, Amour. I don’t have anything else. But I promise you’ll love it when paired with the steak. Trust me.”
I hesitantly grab the bottle, pouring us each a glass – mine considerably smaller than Jake’s – and place them on the table. I have only tried this grape once when I went to a tasting with the girls, trying to find a red I liked. Maybe it’s not as bad as I remember.
Sauntering over to Jake, frying the steaks at the hob, I run my hand across his upper back and lean in to kiss his cheek. “Ok, Jake, I’ll try it. I don’t really know anything about red wine, so I trust you know what you’re talking about.”
His shoulders loosen and he grabs my jaw with his right hand to pull me in for a devouring kiss over his shoulder. It's passionate, albeit an awkward position for me. The oven timer goes off, so he shoos me over to the table whilst he finishes up with our dinner.
“Jake, this all looks and smells divine! Thank you for cooking for me.” Cutting into my steak I notice it is in fact very red, but I don't want to ruin the mood after he put in so much effort so I eat it anyways. The metallic tang is tempered by the seasoning, but the slightly squishy texture of the bloodied meat has my jaw tingling in revolt.
“So how was your week, you were on earlies, right?” I ask before taking another mouthful of the potatoes to chase down the meat. They are cooked to perfection and I can't stop the moan from leaving my throat.
His eyes glint at the sound and his gaze is focused on my lips when he answers, “Yes, I was on earlies. The four a.m. starts are brutal but at least I'm generally done by midday. We only had one major delay this week due to a fallen tree because of Storm Adrian, which is frustrating, but at least it was sorted fairly quickly.”
“That must be so annoying. It's frustrating as a passenger, so it must be even more so as a driver.”
He shrugs, “It is, but you get used to it. Not much we can do to change things. How about you, how was Kings Lynn yesterday?”
I take a sip of the wine and concentrate on holding back my grimace. It’s so dry I feel like my tongue has instantly turned into sandpaper. “It was good,” I choke out. “Such a strange dichotomy of a place, though. The train station and most of the surrounding area was lovely, what I'd class as upper urban. But then we turned a corner by the coach station and suddenly it was more of a basic high street. Pound shops, charity shops, lairymen shouting at each other, it felt quite...chavvy for want of a better word.”
“I don't want you going to places like that, Shari. It's not safe.” He puts down his knife and fork and reaches forward to touch my hand.
“I was fine, Jake. I wasn't alone. Carl and Harry were with me.”
His hold on my hand tightens, “Just you and two men?”
“Jake, they're my colleagues. Harry is my boss. I've worked with them for seven years, I trust them.”And I don't like the way this is going.
“I’m sorry,” his grip loosens, “you're right. I just worry about you, that's all.”
I grab his hand and hold it between both of mine. “I promise you, I'm safe. With or without them. I never go to a place I'd feel uncomfortable visiting on my own, and I always research an area ahead of time if I will be solo. Trust me, I've already had this conversation with Brad.”
He rubs his thumb along mine and his nostrils flare. His eyes flick between mine for a silent beat before his entire frame relaxes. “As long as you're safe, Amour.”
We have tiramisu for dessert – one of my absolute favourites – and retreat to the lounge with the rest of the wine and a cheese board to nibble on.
He pulls my legs to drape across his lap and starts tracing a torturous path from my ankle to my thigh. Back and forth, over and again. His touch is light enough to form goosebumps in his wake, hard enough to stoke a fire in my veins.
“I notice you enjoyed the steak as I said you would. Can we call you a convert?” his grin is smug.
Amused, I reply, “It was undoubtedly delicious, but I'm still a medium girl, I'm afraid. It was just a little too bloody for my taste.”
His fingers edge their way under the hem of my dress, making me suck in a breath. “I find the pinker the flesh, the juicier. The more delicious.” His eyes darken as they flick back up to my face and follow my tongue as it darts out to wet my lips.
He hums, a low rumble. “And the wine? You haven’t drunk very much of it.”
