Page 49 of Sinful Sharing

“Yeah, sure.” He nods eagerly.

He starts putting on his clothes and I get Ranger, then head out to meet the guests with a minute to spare. On the way, I see Wilson walking toward the sauna. He gives me a wave and a smile so cheerful that I grit my teeth. Something about him rubs me the wrong way. Or maybe it’s just that I don’t appreciate his interest in Taylor. Maybe it’s because I don’t want anyone else’s eyes on Taylor but mine.

And Jude’s.

I don’t feel like burning the world down when Jude touches him.

And yes, I realize how crazy this all sounds. I’m aware that I have no claim to Taylor. I’m also aware that making a claim would mean kissing that investment goodbye. But it doesn’t stop me from imagining what it would be like to have him here permanently.

Careful, Roman.

29

Taylor

Jude sets a heavy casserole dish in the center of the table with a dramatic flourish. “Gentlemen,” he announces. “Tonight’s masterpiece.”

Peering into the dish, I make a face. “It looks suspicious.”

He narrows his eyes at me. “This recipe has been passed down for generations.”

“And something tells me you weren’t quite listening when your mother passed it down to you,” Roman chimes in, even as he starts spooning what looks like boiled eggs swimming in tomato sauce. “Seems you’ve missed a couple steps.”

Jude gasps, placing a hand over his heart. “The betrayal!”

Roman rolls his eyes, but a slight smirk forms on his lips.

I grin. “Roman’s got a point, I think.”

“Oh, keep sinking that knife.” Jude shakes his head with feigned sadness. “I rescue you from starvation every other night, and this is the thanks I get.”

Roman drops into his chair with a grunt. “You want a thank you? How about you stop experimenting with dinner? Stick to something safe. Roast beef. Baked chicken. That way, no one will complain.”

“I don’t experiment.” Jude sets a basket of garlic bread onto the table.

“Don’t you?” I cock my head at him. “You were going to make liver pudding the other night, remember?”

Roman shudders.

“Come on, I was bluffing,” Jude defends.

“Were you?”

He grins. A wicked look makes his eyes gleam. “Mostly.”

I laugh. The sound is warm, rich, and light, a complete contrast from when I got here. A month ago, I would’ve thought it crazy if someone told me I’d feel comfortable eating dinner in an old ranch house after spending an entire day getting my hands dirty.

Now I can’t imagine being anywhere else.

Grabbing a spoon, I scoop a small serving of casserole onto my plate. Jude watches keenly as I fork some into my mouth. It’s mozzarella cheese, not egg, and looks are certainly deceiving. I close my eyes with a hum as a burst of flavors hit my tongue. “Damn, that’s good.”

Jude slides into his seat with a smug look. “You’re welcome.”

Which earns him a side glare from Roman that he doesn’t notice. We dig into dinner, which includes Jude telling an animated story about a guest who insisted he was an experienced horseback rider before falling into a snowbank less than three minutes after mounting.

“I swear the filly looked embarrassed for him,” he says between bites.

My drink flies up my nose when I burst into laughter.