Theo gave her a close-lipped smile, and she kissed his cheek. The light brush of her lips on his skin sent a current of anticipation through her.
“Hi.”
“I hope you don’t mind, I cooked dinner for us tonight.”
He placed his leather briefcase on the tufted chair in the hallway and followed her into the kitchen. “You did,” he said, without any particular emotion in his voice.
“Tah dah.” She pointed at the table she’d set—she could have used the long one at the formal dining area, but she preferred the smaller, cozier table in the kitchen where they ate breakfast on weekends. She didn’t want them to be on opposite sides of the table and in different zip codes. “I cooked you some food my mother used to make for me.”
He frowned. “Your mother?”
She chewed her lower lip. “I just thought, why not? I sent your driver for the ingredients and sent the housekeeper home early. I love cooking and wanted to show you.”
He lifted his eyebrow. “I’ve eaten Mexican before.”
“Of course. Still. Not my Mexican.” She forced a smile to dispel the tension squeezing her shoulders like a jacket three times smaller than her size.
“I’ll need to take a shower and then eat,” he said, heading out of the kitchen. He stopped, glanced at her, and said, “You can get started if you’d like.”
Get started? She crossed her arms and plopped on a chair, and soon, he vanished. She heard him going up the stairs and imagined him marching into his bedroom. What just happened?
She blew the small candles she’d lit half an hour prior, one by one. Shit. Sadness quickened her pulse. He obviously hated the surprise…and didn’t even try to hide it. Of course a man like Theo had tried all different cuisines in the world. She’d wanted to show a bit of hers.
Her cheeks warmed, and a single tear rolled down her face. Why did she think they shared a connection, some sort of twisted relationship? Maybe they’d talked before, pure simple pillow talk. And she’d been stupid to cook that dinner and wait for him like some fifties housewife from a black-and-white movie.
He’s pushing me away because we got too close. Too close for him.
Because that’s all she’d ever be for him—a piece of meat. And she’d do well by remembering it instead of trying for a ridiculous friendship, which would end the moment she left his country. The moment their contract came to an end.
Remember why you’re here.
She wiped the tear from her face and stood. If she allowed herself to cry over a dinner he’d underappreciated, that meant she was developing feelings for him. That meant she was foolish to forget the rules. The contract. His upcoming marriage to someone else.
She ran her fingers through her hair. She marched through the house, going up the stairs until she reached his bedroom. Clouds of vapor swirled out of his bathroom, the door half opened.
A part of her wanted to smack him, to make him appreciate her. And quickly, the rational part of her wanted to smack herself for even falling into the pretend trap. She swallowed the lump in her throat, clearing her mind of any doubts about what she was about to do.
She found him in the marbled shower box, standing with his head facing down as if worry weighed on his shoulders. He splayed his hands on the smooth surface, and the side jets sprayed on his hot, muscular figure.
She removed her clothes, dropping them to the floor. When she was down to her bra and panties, he turned around, all wet and delicious. A hint of surprise gleamed in his eyes. Probably he’d thought his attempt to distance himself from her failed dinner idea would make her mad.
Well, it had. But she’d been able to pick herself up, and if she wanted to survive the rest of their month together, she had to show it to him—and to herself.
She tapped the clear glass door. “You’ve been a naughty, naughty boy, Theo Rhodes.”
The sternness in his face dissipated, his expression softening. “Have I?”
“Yes. Your expensive virgin cooked you dinner and you didn’t even thank her. Instead, you acted like a spoiled brat.”
A devilish energy oozed from him, his pupils dilating. He opened the door and pulled her to him, his hands clutching her wrists. “Maybe I was waiting for the right opportunity to thank her properly.”
He pushed her against the slick wall, and soon water fell down her body, drenching her hair, underwear, everything. She gasped, adjusting to the warmth from the water to a much hotter temperature inside her. He placed her wrists above her head, holding them in place with one hand. Then he captured her lips with his.
He stroked her tongue with his, relentlessly, kissing her into submission. She squirmed and tried to move her hand, to touch him, make him ache for her as she ached for him—but he kept her restrained, tightening his hold on her. This whole scenario aroused her more than she could have imagined.
There she was, pinned for his pleasure. Her breasts threatened to spill from the bra, and an achy tingle formed behind her puckering nipples. He nudged her thighs apart, and she felt her cream soaking her panties, the evidence of her lust coating her folds.
“Theo.”
