Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 123579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 618(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 412(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 618(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 412(@300wpm)
“Fragile?” He snorts, turning on the light to illuminate a gorgeous kitchen decorated with cherry cabinets and shades of lemon and cranberry. It shouldn’t work, but somehow it does. The granite counters are clean, save a few cutting boards evidencing Trevor’s meal preparations. No man has ever cooked for me. It makes me feel special.
He makes me feel special.
“So we’re taking a shortcut.”
Trevor assembles the ingredients—sugar, flour, butter, vanilla extract, a cup of blackberries and a cup of blueberries, sugar, eggs, and packaged pie crust.
“That’s for the topping. My mama would skin me for not making it, but we’re pressed for time and this is what my sister had.”
“You usually make the crust? Like make it, make it?”
He grins, opening the crust and sliding it toward me.
“Yep, but since it’s your first time, I’ll be gentle with you.”
I grin, recognizing my words to him from yesterday.
“Touché.” I point to the pie crust. “What am I supposed to do here?”
“You’ll cut that into strips for the cobbler, while I mix all this together.” He walks over to the oven, turning a knob. “That’s preheating.”
He glances up at me, his dark eyes dancing with mine across the counter.
“You ready?”
“Um, no, but when have I ever waited to be ready to do something?”
He surprises me, leaning over the counter to drop a quick, sweet kiss on my mouth.
“This time, with me, you’ll wait until we’re ready, right?”
One minute we’re talking about cobbler, and the next we’re talking about his timeline for sex. I think?
“How will you know we’re ready, Bishop?” I hold his eyes with mine, refusing to release him until he answers.
“We’ll both know, Sof.” He turns his attention back to the ingredients. “You, pie crust. Me, mixing.”
For the next few minutes, we work and talk. It feels so natural, the way we talk about our day, laughing at things that aren’t even really that funny except because the other said it. I’m doing something I’ve never done before. Making cobbler, yes, but I’m sharing myself with him in a way that feels as intimate as anything I’ve ever done, but new and fresh. Like a gulp of ocean air, revitalizing me. Clearing my head.
“Okay, that goes in for forty-five minutes. We got a while before it’s done.” Trevor turns from the stove, leaning against the counter and looking devastating.
He took off the hunter green sweater he was wearing earlier, and is wearing a plain white T-shirt, which contrasts with the naturally tanned skin he inherited from his father. His face is a riveting geometry of sharp angles and straight lines, softened by the dimples that appear every time he smiles.
“So tell me about Haven.” He settles onto a stool of mahogany and dark brown leather. “What’s that all about?”
I take the stool beside him, crossing my ankles and resting my feet on the lower stool rung. The T-shirt rides up to about mid-thigh, and his eyes run over the length of my legs. I don’t pull it down. I love seeing him want me, even if he won’t do much about it yet.
“Ever heard of Goop?” I ask.
“Gwyneth Paltrow?” Trevor scrunches up his face in thought. “Her website thing?”
“Yes, her website thing.”
I tug at the pins digging into my scalp, securing my hair in the knot behind my ear, until my hair falls past my shoulders. Again, I enjoy his eyes on me, taking in the silky fall of hair to the middle of my back. I look up to find him studying me, his eyes dark and warm and admiring.
“Haven is my Goop.” I offer a small smile. “More like Preserve, Blake Lively’s site, but you get the picture. It’s a lifestyle website, but mine has a heavy fashion emphasis.”
I gather some stray flour between my fingers, sifting it and rubbing the velvety texture.
“We partner with artisans and designers who create products specifically for our site. Part of the appeal from their perspective is that half of the profits go to charitable partners.”
He stares at me like I’ve grown horns before opening his mouth and then closing it again.
“Charitable partners?” he asks. “Which ones?”
“The Walsh Foundation, obviously.” I pull a clump of hair across my mouth, a girlish habit I never kicked. “I’ve been their celebrity ambassador for years, but I want to work with other organizations, too. I’m being really careful about which ones, though.”
I look up at him through my lashes, feeling more exposed to him than when I brashly shoved his hand into my panties this morning.
“Maybe you could help me? I mean, to find the right charitable partners.”
“Of course.” He reaches over, toying with the ends of the hair hanging just above my breast. “I’d love to.”
“Really?” A wide smile takes over my face. “Marlee’s heading up the charitable effort, and the rest of the team handles everything else. You wanna see what we have so far?”