Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 76809 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76809 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
And until it was her, I had no interest in having one in my space.
Or so I thought.
I'd needed to leave the house because I liked having a woman there more than I should. There was something unexpectedly comforting to come in from my morning workout to see a woman—soft and bed-tossed, wearing nothing but a robe—sitting there waiting for me.
There was something right about sharing a meal beside someone for a change, to banter with them, to start a day with something other than concerns about work.
I was enjoying her presence too much.
Especially for such a short span of time.
So distance was imperative.
Even if all I did while I was gone was wonder what outfit she'd chosen to wear, if she was curled up on the couch watching her baking shows, what she was learning to cook from Cora, or if there would be any left for me when I got home.
"Anything to report?" I asked Niko, who greeted me as I walked through the gate.
"She talks a lot," he told me, barely holding back a grin. Apparently, I wasn't the only one who enjoyed her presence.
"Part of her job, I'd imagine."
"She's a halfway decent cook," he added.
"What'd they make?"
"Gyros."
"Where are they now?"
"Cora is in the kitchen. Miss Miller is in the living room watching TV. She seems antsy."
"Thanks, Niko," I told him, moving inside, going in through the kitchen to grab some coffee. I was handed a tray, instead, with two coffees and a plate overflowing with Loukoumades—golden puffs of dough much like an American donut hole, but with honey and cinnamon and sugar.
"Go go. Take them to her," Cora demanded, waving a dishrag at me.
"Cora," I said, taking the tray, but feeling like I needed to clarify. "Miller is just here for work."
"Sure sure. So you say. She's a good woman."
"I'm sure she is. She is also a busy woman. With friends and family and work. In America."
To that, she just clucked her tongue, not willing to admit when she was wrong. And since it was a quality I sometimes shared with her, I went ahead and let it slide, taking the tray through the house to the sitting room Miller seemed most comfortable with.
"Oh, God," she grumbled, eyes falling on the plate in horror.
"They're good," I told her, placing the tray down on the coffee table, taking one of the donuts, and popping it into my mouth.
"That's the worst part!"
"That they are good?" I asked.
"Yes. Everything she makes is amazing. Do you have any idea how hard it is to turn down such good food?"
"Why turn it down then?"
"Mr. Adamos, I am pretty sure I have gained seven pounds since breakfast," she said, eyes round, lips parted.
"Cora thinks women need to be soft," I said, shrugging.
"I think everyone thinks women should be soft. In the boobs and butt. And thin everywhere else. And that is just not how it works. All this food is going straight to my hips, I swear."
"Soft hips aren't a bad thing either. Something to hold onto," I added, even if I definitely didn't need the mental image in my head.
She'd picked the red dress.
And with her darker coloring and the way it skimmed her in all the right places? Yeah, it was fucking hard to not let my head go there already.
"Well, I've already eaten so much crap," she said, folding forward to grab a donut, taking a sniff, then plopping it in her mouth.
Then she had to go ahead and moan.
Because that was what I really needed.
"Oh, my God. This is just. Oh, my God," she said, grabbing another. "Cora, you kitchen witch, you," she called, getting a chuckle from my housekeeper. "You don't pay her enough," she declared.
"You don't know what I pay her."
"No, but whatever it is, it's not enough. Not when she can make things like this," she told me, going back for more, something that made my lips quirk up slightly.
There were a lot of sexy things a woman could do. But enjoying her food, that was pretty high on the list for me.
"I heard you made gyro."
"Well, at least Niko talks to you," she said, shooting me an eye roll for my demand that they not engage her.
Really, it had mostly been a safety concern. Her job was to negotiate for things she wanted. I imagined she could do so by being very charming. And my men—as well trained as they were—always had a soft spot for a beautiful and charming woman. I didn't want her getting a cell out of them, calling her team, and fucking up my plan.
I knew Chernev.
He didn't trust strangers.
If he knew I had brought some of the world's best fixers in, he would be pissed. And I didn't want to contemplate what that might mean for my brother.
Alright, maybe there was a small part of me that didn't want them talking to her in general. For reasons I didn't understand. Reasons I didn't want to understand either.