She’s become too important to me to rush the intimacy that burns between us. If there’s any chance of making her want to stay beyond the confines of our contract, I have to go slow. Give her a chance to know me.
But this is too much.
I lean forward and brush my lips across hers. Our mouths linger for a few seconds and I gently tug her ponytail. “Thank you.”
She smiles. “You’re welcome.”
“I can tell you secret?”
“Of course.”
“I do not like borscht.”
She blinks. “But your father said?—”
“I know.” I wrinkle my nose. “My mother, she is known for her borscht. Everyone takes her recipe. Everyone asks her to make. She is the queen of borscht. But I hate it. I only eat to be polite because her feelings would be hurt.”
Holly bites her lip, like she’s holding in laughter.
Then it bursts out of her and she puts a hand over her mouth.
“I’m so sorry. I made poor Serena look up all these recipes for the most authentic borscht possible—and you don’t even like it.”
“Is okay. The thought is very special. I love caviar. And Olivier salad.”
“Are you sure?” She suddenly looks a little unsure of herself and I reach for her hand, bringing it to my lips.
“I love this,” I whisper, my voice coming out gruffer than I planned. I kiss the inside of her wrist. Then her palm. Then I look up at her. “Thank you. Truly.”
“You’re welcome.”
Our eyes lock and that jolt of chemistry that’s become all-too-familiar rockets through me. I don’t think I’m going to be able to keep my hands off of her after this.
“I want to know what you think of the borscht,” I tell her playfully.
She reaches for a thermos and pours a little of the beet soup into a bowl. There are plastic utensils and she takes a tentative bite. She swallows and looks at me, her face a mask.
“Well?” I ask with a smile.
“I’m going to pass,” she says, closing the thermos.
“You will like the salad.”
She fills our plates with food, putting small squares of blinis covered with mayonnaise and caviar on a paper plate. I take one and pop it in my mouth, savoring the tangy and salty flavor.
“Really, this is my favorite. Of everything in the world.”
“Caviar is your favorite food out of anything?”
I nod. “Pizza is close second, but this—” I make a kissing noise. “The best.”
“I’ll have to remember that.”
“You must also remember to never tell my mother I hate borscht.”
“I promise.”
We smile at each other.
