Page 147 of Spicy Ever After
She stares at me, her mouth half-open like she’s ready to argue. I don’t let her.
“Let’s eat.”
She blinks like she’s waking from a trance. “W-what?”
I tip my head toward the spoils of her buffet raid. “I’m hungry. Aren’t you? Let’s have a picnic on that bed.”
The way her body slumps in relief almost makes me feel guilty. Should I have reassured her sooner?
She nods but then gives me her back. “But first, can you unzip me? I need to get out of this dress. It was uncomfortable before I started sweating.”
For the second time tonight, I unzip her dress, but this time, I have longer to appreciate the experience.
And I’m not wielding a knife.
Hattie sighs as the back of her dress falls open. “I’ll change in the bathroom. There’s bottled water in the fridge if you’re thirsty.”
Then she tugs one of the bathrobes off its hook and ducks into the bathroom.
I grab two waters and then make quick work of shedding what’s left of my suit and grab the remaining bathrobe. And like everything else here, it’s like being swathed in cozy luxury. I like it.
But it’s nothing compared to how I feel when Hattie steps out of the bathroom, wrapped up in her own robe, her bare, shapely calves and dainty feet a tease of flesh. I don’t want to stop staring until my gaze climbs and I find the deep V of cleavage at the close of the robe.
Je-sus.
“That’s so much better.” She sighs in relief. “If we had a fireplace in here, I’d burn those Spanx.”
Wait.
Is she naked under there?
My mind rewinds the last few minutes.
The robe was the only thing she took with her.
Yeah. Chances are good that the only thing standing between me and a deliciously naked Hattie is a flimsy knot of luxury terry cloth.
I swallow hard and rein in my focus. She’s not ready for that. We need to go slow.
Get it together, Olivier.
Pulling my gaze away from her, I scan the room, trying to remember what we were supposed to do before changing.
Oh, right. Food.
Who needs food?
Still, I concentrate on moving the plates to the bed. And concentration is needed.
Because the sight of Hattie climbing onto the bed is torture.
Grinning at the modest feast, she crawls forward across the mattress and plucks a bacon-wrapped shrimp off the plate.
“Food. How did you know?” She pops the bite into her mouth.
“How did I know?” I snag a bacon-wrapped shrimp for myself and follow suit.
Damn. That’s good.
