He sensed that she was worried he wouldn’t approve, but he did. The idea of her covered in flour again…He would have to take a cold shower before dinner or he wouldn’t last through the meal.
“That sounds nice. Thank you, Françoise.” He bid good night to the housekeeper as she collected her coat and slipped out the front door.
Callie set her bag of art supplies on the floor and started to pull off her coat. Wes moved quickly, coming up behind her to peel the slight coat from her shoulders. She smelled so good. The scent of the peppermint shampoo that lingered in her hair made her impossible to resist. He tossed her coat onto a chair nearby and gripped her from behind, holding her captive as he pressed against her and nuzzled her hair.
“You smell amazing,” he whispered. A little shiver shot through her and he felt it vibrate through her and into him.
“Thank you,” she replied breathlessly. “Do you want to make dinner? We could start now. It will take a while to cook.”
“How long?” He brushed his lips over her ear.
“Four hours. It’s a pot roast.”
He didn’t care how long it was if that meant four hours he could spend seducing her while it cooked.
“Sounds good.” He stepped back and swatted her bottom. The little yelp she gave reminded him she was still sore from his last punishment.
“What was that for?” She smoothed a hand over her bottom, wincing before she shot him a scowl. The expression of her attempt to be mad at him was only sexy, too fucking sexy.
“I like to spank you as much as you like to be spanked. You’d better get used to it.” He moved toward her again, but she darted into the kitchen, avoiding him. Tonight he was going to give her the opportunity to come to him and his bed. He wanted to end the bet once and for all. He didn’t want the shadows of it between them any longer. Whatever it took, he would do. Seduce by touch, by look, by kiss. He would show no mercy this time for her broken heart. She needed someone new to make her whole, to give her everything she needed. The wait was over.
Chapter 11
Callie sensed the immediate change in Wes as he entered the kitchen. His eyes were dark like a winter sea during a mighty storm. It was not from anger, but from passion. She was learning his expressions, the subtle changes in his eyes that told her things when words could not. He was still an enigma, a tall, broad-shouldered, muscled mystery who stole her breath and her sanity. But tiny puzzle pieces were clicking into place.
He leaned against the counter, watching her like a wolf. She had to regain control and not think about how sexy and sinful he looked.
“Why don’t you get out a roasting pan and turn the oven on,” she suggested. Then she put her focus on the meat and the spices she needed. Françoise had acquired a tasty-looking three-pound chuck roast.
“Next?” Wes asked as he set a huge black roasting pan on the kitchen island.
“Wine? Cheap red. Nothing expensive.”
“Cheap wine? What makes you think I would ever own a bottle of cheap wine?” The incredulous look on his face made her laugh.
“Yes. We’re putting it in with the beef stock for the roast to soak in.”
Grumbling, he retrieved a bottle from the wine rack by the pantry. “This is the cheapest I have. If we’re using it, we might as well have a glass while we’re cooking.” He uncorked the bottle and poured two glasses for them before he handed the bottle to her.
For the next few minutes she prepared the roast in the pan and had Wes chopping baby carrots and potatoes. He worked quickly with his knife and deposited the vegetables into the pan around the meat. Then she handed him sage, rosemary, and celery salt, teaching him how to pinch the correct amount of each spice and sprinkle it over the pan. The intense look of concentration firming his lips into a hard line and knitting his brows together made her laugh.
“Cooking is supposed to be fun. It’s half art, half science,” she instructed and on sudden impulse she stood up on tiptoe and kissed the corner of his too-serious mouth. He relaxed and nearly dropped the spice bottles into the roaster, but he recovered himself and set them on the counter. Handing him the bottle of wine, she continued to smile at him, delighting in the fact she was teaching him how to do something.
“One cup of this and we’re done. Then it’s time to put it into the oven.”
He splashed the wine over their creation, put it into the oven, and set the timer for four hours.
“Done,” he announced as he spun around to face her, his eyes gleaming with pride, but she had a sense that half that gleam had less to do with the meal.
“Yeah,” she echoed faintly, short of breath.
He placed a glass of wine into her hand.
“Whatever shall we do until it’s ready?” The question sounded so innocent, but nothing about Wes was innocent.
She licked her lips nervously. The last two days…no, the last two months had been building to this. She could be with Wes, but it would mean letting go of that tiny fragment of her heart that was still carved with Fenn’s name. And it would mean letting him win the bet. She’d lose her shot at getting an art school recommendation from his friend if she gave in. That wasn’t something she wanted, but since she’d come here to Paris with him, her confidence had grown. She was considering applying for the scholarship program without a recommendation. Maybe she would be able to get in on her own merit.
“If…we do this, that means you win the bet.” Holding her breath, she waited to see how he would react, to see if he would revel in his win, or if it had been like he’d said earlier and that everything between them wasn’t just because of some silly bet.
“It does,” he admitted. “But you know how I feel, that what I want from you isn’t just because of some challenge, but because I’ve wanted you from the moment I saw you, because I have to have you. And if you agree to this, you won’t be losing to me, Callie. We’ll both win, of that I assure you. But we only do this if you’re ready and willing.”
The quicksilver flash of hesitation in his eyes was all she needed to see in order to trust him. He didn’t want to rush her. His desire was tied to hers. She could trust him to be careful and gentle with her, but he needed something, too. He wouldn’t ask her tonight, but she wanted to explore all the things he reveled in.
“Wes…I’m ready.” The second the words were out of her mouth, she forgot to breathe for a few seconds and it was only when her chest was on fire that she sucked in precious air.
His eyes ignited and her own body flared, like a phoenix surging up from the ashes.
He finished his glass of wine and set it on the counter. Every move was slow and deliberate, as though he feared she’d bolt if he moved too fast. When he held out one hand to her, she knew that if she took it there would be no going back. Not for her body, but also not for her heart. She wasn’t in love with Wes, but being with him would destroy that sliver of her young and foolish heart that still loved Fenn. It was time to let go. Sleeping with him might help cure her of the last bit of herself that believed in love and happily-ever-afters. She could prove to herself she could have sex with a man and enjoy it and not worry about falling in love and getting hurt.
She blew out a measured breath and placed her hand in his. He curled his fingers around hers and she was consumed by the flames of desire in his eyes. It never ceased to amaze her how he could do that, erase all sense of the world around them until all she saw was him, all she felt was him. That was all from one look, one touch. There was no going back now.
He led her out of the kitchen and down the hall. As they went through the library, the evening sun was a peach orange bleeding into a soft crimson and it illuminated the endless shelves of books and warmed the brown leather chairs near the staircase. Books had been portals to adventures for her and now she was actually living one.