A light laugh burst from her lips. “If that’s the case, then yes.”
“Spoiled brat,” I muttered.
“Hey! Can’t lower my standards,” she called out. “My dad did that for me.”
I held my tongue. Maligning her dad for spoiling her wasn’t the way to endear me to Lucy. I’d made headway in winning my wife’s affection. She actually seemed to enjoy my company instead of simply tolerating me. As for me, I’d gone way past tolerating.
I craved her company.
I would even say I was obsessed.
Honest talk?
I think I always have been.
She was preparing our fuckfest bedding. I could already feel myself thickening.
I had an idea.
One that involved oranges and I wouldn’t have to finish a damn fourth of a puzzle before fucking my wife.
Chapter
Thirty
Lucy
Kirill returnedwith a plate of sectioned oranges and sliced apples. I felt guilty, but I wasn’t going to change who I was. I never ate fruit if I couldn’t eat it easily. That was why I stuck to berries and bananas.
I grinned sheepishly though when he sat beside me on the cushions I’d fixed on the floor. Did it make me feel giddy that he immediately picked up what I was putting down? Or maybe the heat from the hearth was making me feel like my whole body was on fire.
“Is this part of you monitoring my eating habits?”
“Consider it part of it.” He speared one of the apple slices and offered it to me and that was when it hit me that we’d come a long way since the cake tasting. We’d had countless encounters around food. But it wasn’t until that rooftop dining experience that we began having meaningful chats. Our declared truce opened up many avenues of conversation that morphed into something else. Something more. Something with a future.
Kirill’s eyes were far from icy, and it had nothing to do with the fire’s reflection in his gaze. I opened my mouth and daintily accepted the apple slice. “These are really sweet.”
“Organic and comes from one of our orchards.”
“You own farms?”
“Several up and down the East Coast. We have one for peaches down in Georgia.”
“We have a log cabin down there with an orchard as well,” I mused. “But I’ve never been down there.”
“City girl.”
“It’s not a bad thing,” I defended.
“I’ll make you love mountain life yet.”
“I never expected you to have lumberjack vibes. I mean, look at your house and staff. The car you drive.”
“I am many things, Lucy,” he drawled.
“Do you surf?”
“No.” He scowled. “Why? Do you like surfers?” I would have laughed, but his tone was terse.
