Although had he not, Valentino could probably have guessed from the multiple framed photographs he’d noted on the living room on the way to the deck. Mostly they were of McKenzie, some of Peyton when she was younger with who he’d presumed to be her family. But there were a couple of two very tiny infants in specialised medical cots covered in monitor wires and IV tubing and other bits and pieces of medical paraphernalia.
‘I don’t expect you to understand.’
Valentino shrugged. ‘I understand some.’
He held her gaze for a moment or two then lowered his eyes to the plate, not wanting to come on too strong, or push too hard against that bruise.
Picking up an olive, he returned to his mission to get her to eat. ‘Be careful of this one, it still has its pit.’ Presenting it to her mouth, Valentino pushed it gently against her lips. ‘Don’t be deceived by its plainness. The buttery flavour is truly sensational.’
To his surprise, she sucked it into her mouth without protest. Perhaps she didn’t want to push against the bruise either. When she started to munch, Valentino put his finger against her lips.
‘Don’t.’ He shook his head. ‘It’s not popcorn. Let it sit in your mouth. Savour it. Roll it around. Tell me what you taste.’
She blinked at the question, like he’d spoken in Swahili. Then, as if she’d just realised his finger was still resting on her mouth, she jerked her head back. ‘It’s just… food.’ She shot him an exasperated look. ‘It tastes like food.’
Valentino sighed. If he’d given her something objectively bland he could have understood. But an olive? A very expensive, high-quality olive? That was sacrilege. ‘Okay.’ He shook his head. ‘Shut your eyes.’
‘What?’ She frowned like it was an utterly preposterous request. ‘No.’
It was Valentino’s turn for exasperation. ‘Just… please shut them for a moment.’
He raised his fingers to her eyes, half expecting her to pull away again, but when she didn’t, he gently shuttered her lids. They glistened a little from the residual olive oil on his fingers.
‘Now, tell me what you taste.’
Even with her eyes shut, her face was expressive. Her grimace at his persistence followed by her reluctant resignation as she rolled the olive around in her mouth almost made him laugh.
Anyone would think he was forcing her to eat poison.
Her cheeks hollowed and her lips formed a very kissable moue before she slowly bit down, savouring the chewing process this time instead of rushing. ‘Salty,’ she said after she swallowed, her eyes fluttering open, finding his immediately. ‘But smooth, like thick, double cream.’
Valentino smiled, pleased at her assessment. ‘That’s the spirit.’ He reached for another, not giving her time to decline. ‘What about this one?’
Putting up no protest this time, she closed her eyes again as Valentino inched a black Kalamata marinated in herbs towards her mouth. Her nostrils flared as if she could already smell the earthy aromas, and he idlily wondered what she’d do if he pressed his lips to hers instead.
Would she pull away? Slap him across the face? Toss him out on his ass? Or would she open to him like she’d done once before?
A low rumbling noise confused him for a second, his hand stilling in its trajectory until Peyton’s hand slid to her belly. ‘Sorry…’ Her eyes drifted open. They were all silvery and slumberous and his breath caught in his throat. ‘Guess Iamhungry.’
Tamping down on the triumph trumpeting through his veins at the dizzying admission, Valentino smiled. How long had Peyton been hungry for,really? How long had she let the growl of her stomach be drowned out by the much louder demands of her life?
Continuing the olive’s trek, Valentino pushed it past her lips that parted like a flower to the first rays of the sun, and a little burst of heat fizzed to life in Valentino’s loins. The oil moistened her lips and the urge to follow the path of the olive with his own mouth was an urgent thrum in his blood.
She savoured again, rolling it around, her gaze never leaving his before she bit down again, a quiet ‘Mmm’ slipping out.
Valentino smiled. He knew that sound. ‘Good, huh?’
‘Is that rosemary? And’ – her brow knitted – ‘chives?’
‘A fast study,’ he teased.
‘And something else. Something…’
Valentino tracked the swipe of her tongue as it passed over her front teeth, hunting for the flavour.Dio!Being turned on by a woman eating olives had never been a kink of his but it sure as hell was now.
She smiled triumphantly. ‘Citrus?’
He laughed. ‘Very good. There’s lemon peel in the marinade.’
