Ava

I’m feeling a little nervous, cooking for Gabe. I know I’ve cooked for him already, but that was just a straightforward soup and some pancakes.

I want to make this nice because I want to thank him for what he’s doing for me and Gucci—hiring me to take care of him and letting us stay here.

He doesn’t have to do that.

Not that I really do that much, apart from getting him drinks when he wants them and feeding him. Oh, and helping him out of the bath, which I had to do again before I started dinner.

And, dear God, it’s hard to stop myself from taking a peek at his cock to see how big it actually is.

I can’t exactly give him shit for staring at my boobs and then go and look at his cock without his permission.

And is it bad of me that I actually kind of like it when he stares at the girls?

I know it’s not very feminist of me, but I like the fact that he thinks I have great breasts. Not that I’d ever admit that to him.

It’s just, he’s Gabriel Evans, hottest guy in the world, lusted after by millions, who’s probably seen lots of girls’ boobs—famous models’ and actresses’ boobs—and he thinks that I, and I quote, “have the best rack” he’s ever seen in his life.

Hell yeah!

But, anyway, I don’t really feel like I’m earning my money, and it doesn’t sit well with me, so I’m going to ask him if there are more jobs that I can do around the house.

Dinner’s almost ready, so I call out from the kitchen to Gabe, “Where do you want to eat dinner? At the table or in the living room?”

“Living room’s fine,” he calls back. “You need me to do anything?”

“No, I got it.”

I serve up the jerk-seasoned pulled pork that I just made into a dish. Then, I turn the heat off the stove and dish out the spicy-jerk prawns with mango into another waiting bowl. I get a tray from the cupboard and put the pulled pork, jerk prawns, tortillas, banana salsa, and coconut dressing that I made earlier on it. I grab the prepackaged salad from the fridge and empty it into another dish. I put it on the tray, which is looking pretty full.

I’ll have to come back for the plates.

I pick up the tray and carry it through to the living room. Gabe is on the sofa, foot up on the footstool, watching TV. Gucci is laid out on the rug, fast asleep, but then her head perks up at the smell of food.

I put the tray on the coffee table.

“I’ll just grab the plates, and I’ll be back. You want anything to drink?” I grab the two empty beer bottles off the coffee table.

“Do you want wine with dinner?” he asks.

“Sure.”

“There are some bottles in the wine cooler. Take your pick.”

“Okay.” I go back in the kitchen and drop the beer bottles in the recycling bin.

I get another tray and put two plates on it along with some serving cutlery. We don’t need any other utensils, as this is finger food. Then, I get two wine glasses and pick out a nice Riesling, which will nicely accompany the food. I remove the cork and then carry everything into the living room.

When I get there, Gabe is sitting on the rug near the coffee table, his leg stretched out on the floor.

“You okay sitting there?” I ask, putting the other tray down.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I thought it’d be easier to sit here, and then I can get to the food.”

“I would have made you a plate,” I tell him as I kneel on the rug across from him and next to Gucci.

She moves up and rests her head against my leg, so I give her head a scratch.

She baaahhhs softly.

And Gabe laughs.

“What?” I ask him.

“Just thinking of when I first heard that noise, and I thought she was a fucking sheep.”

“Now, that would have been crazy, if I had a sheep as a pet.” I laugh.

“Yeah, about as crazy as having a goat as one.”

“Ass.” I laugh again and then hand him a plate.

“This looks great. Not to be ignorant, but what is it?”

“That’s jerk pulled pork.” I point to it. “And that’s spicy-jerk prawns with mango.” I indicate the other dish. “There’s coconut dressing and banana salsa to dress them with.”

“You made all of this?”

“Yep.”

I pour out two glasses of wine and put one in front of Gabe while he’s busy filling up a tortilla with the jerk prawns.

I grab a tortilla and put some pork, salad, and banana salsa in it. Then, I wrap it up and take a bite.

Gabe takes a bite of the taco. His eyes close on a moan.

And my girlie bits come to life in response. My body lights up. And my nipples get embarrassingly hard.

Please don’t show through my clothes.

His eyes open, and he takes another bite. The taco is almost gone; his bites are that big.

“Good?” I ask him.

“So fucking good,” he groans around a mouthful. He chews and swallows it down. Then, he puts the last of the taco in his mouth. “Fuck, Speedy. My stomach thanks you.” He grabs another tortilla and starts loading that up.

My cheeks heat at the compliment. “It’s no biggie.”

“Maybe not to you since you come from a family of chefs. But, to a guy who lives on takeout, this is amazing. What kind of restaurant do your parents have?” he asks me.

“New American cuisine. It’s a bar and restaurant.”

“Where is it?”

“It’s in New York.”

“I’ll have to go next time I’m there. What’s it called?”

“Simms. You know, our surname. Nothing original. Just let me know when you’re going to be there, and I’ll make sure you get the best table.”

He takes a drink of his wine and then starts in on his taco. “Why didn’t you become a chef?”

I put my food down on my plate. “Because I know firsthand how demanding the job is. I saw the hours my parents put into the restaurant—and still do—and, as much as I love cooking, I knew it wasn’t for me. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do, to be honest, and after college, I just fell into working in wardrobe. I’ve always loved clothes, and it’s a fun job, so it works for me.”

“And your brother? You said he’s a lawyer, right?”

“Yeah, a corporate lawyer. It takes him all over the world.”

“Where is he at the moment?”

“Tokyo.”

“Great city.”

“You’ve been there?”

“A couple of times, promoting movies.”

“Ah, right. I’d love to go. The farthest I’ve ever been is Hawaii on a family holiday when I was a kid.” I pick my glass up and take a sip. “So, I know what your brother does. But what do your parents do?”

He doesn’t answer, so I glance over at him.

He’s frozen still.

“Gabe?”

His eyes flicker back to life. “My parents are gone.” He picks his wine up and drains the glass.

“Gone?”

“Dead.”

He picks the bottle up and refills his glass to the top.

“God. I’m sorry, Gabe. I didn’t know.”

“It’s fine.” He starts drinking again. His glass is half-empty. Then, it’s gone.

I pick my own wine up and drink it. I feel terrible. I’ve made him uncomfortable, bringing up his parents. And we were having such a nice time.

He pours more wine into his glass, but the bottle empties, only partially filling it.

He starts to move.

“Where are you going?” I ask.

“To get another bottle.”

“I’ll go.” I move Gucci’s head off my leg, and I’m on my feet, heading for the kitchen.

I get another bottle of the same wine and open it up before taking it back through with me. I pour some more into his glass and then refill my own. I put the bottle on the table before sitting back down.

The tension in the air is awful. It’s like a rain cloud on a perfectly nice evening.

“Gabe, I’m sorry. I—”

“Forget it. You didn’t know.”

I tuck my hair behind my ear. Then, I take a bite of my food. We eat in silence, the sound of the TV giving background noise, but the quiet between us is killing me.

“So…I was thinking—”

“Did it hurt?”

And he’s back.

I almost laugh with relief. “Jackass.”

“Wench.”

I look over at him, and the corners of his lips are curled up.

“Anyway,” I continue on, “I feel like I’m not really earning the money that you’re paying me for taking care of you. All I do is feed you and help you out of the bath.”

“And having you do that is worth every penny.”

“Perv. And, now that I’m your employee, you do realize, with comments like that, I can sue you for sexual harassment.” I lick some sauce off my finger. I don’t miss the way his eyes follow the movement or the way they flare.

And I can’t deny that I like having that effect on him.

“I was talking about you feeding me, Speedy. Not getting me out of the bath. But good to know where your mind is.” He smirks.

My cheeks flame. I quickly pick up my wine and take a big drink to cover it.

“So, I was just wondering if there’s anything else I can do around here to help.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. I could clean.”

“I have cleaners who come in twice a week.”

“What about laundry?”

“They do that as well.”

“Oh.”

“You could help me run lines if you want? Donna, my PA, usually does it with me, but she’s on vacation at the moment.”

“That sounds awesome.” I light up at the thought. “I don’t know how good I’ll be. I mean, I did drama in high school and was in some plays, and I was okay, but I haven’t done anything since then—”

“Speedy.” He holds up a hand, cutting me off. “As long as you can read, you’re good.”

“I can read,” I tell him. “So, when will we start?”

“How’s tomorrow sound?”

“Perfect. What’s the movie about?”

“It’s an espionage thriller.”

“Wow. Sounds really good.”

“You got that from espionage thriller? Fuck, I must be a better actor than I thought.”

“You’re such a dick.” I laugh, shaking my head.

He cups his hand around his ear. “I have a huge dick? Why, thank you, Speedy. I didn’t know you knew. Have you been sneaking peeks when getting me out of the bath?”

“No. Because I can keep control of my eyes, unlike you,” I say indignantly, pointing in the direction of the girls.

His eyes meet mine. “So, what you’re saying is, if you couldn’t keep control of your eyes, you’d sneak a look at my cock?”

“No!”

“Because you don’t have to sneak a look. Just say the word, and I’ll show you my monster cock anytime.”

“You have a monster cock? That sounds terrifying!” I snort. It must be the wine, loosening me up a bit. I always get giddy from vino.

“Monstrous in size but absolutely fucking glorious to look at.” He winks. “And a total beast in bed.”

I burst out laughing. “You crack me up!”

Yep, I must be tipsy. Not that I’ve had that much to drink. God, I’m such a cheap date.

“Right back at ya, babe.” He chuckles.

Babe.

He called me babe.

I really need to stop with the wine.

We finish dinner, and Gabe polishes off the second bottle of wine.

I’m just stacking the plates on the tray when Gabe starts to get up.

“You okay?” I ask him, as he seems to be struggling a bit.

“Yeah. I’ve just gone a bit stiff.”

I go over to him and offer him my hand. He takes it, and I try to ignore the fireworks that go off in my stomach.

He puts his other hand on the sofa and pushes up as I pull.

He comes upright, but because he’s on one leg—and also probably because of the amount of alcohol he’s consumed and the fact that I’m not feeling the steadiest after the wine—he tips forward, onto me, grabbing hold of my waist. And I grab his biceps, using every ounce of strength to stop us both from going down.

“Shit, sorry,” he says.

“It’s fine.” I smile up at him.

Then, I’m acutely aware of how close we actually are. My breasts are just brushing his chest.

And we’re still touching.

My hands on his arms.

His hands on my waist.

I feel his fingers flex against me.

I suddenly feel hotter. My breaths start to come in shorter.

I see his eyes darken.

Then, they drop to my mouth.

I lick my lips.

He’s going to kiss me. Holy shit, he’s going to kiss me…

Oh.

No, he’s not.

He lets me go and is grabbing his crutches, tucking them under his arms.

“Thanks for the save,” he says. Then, he’s moving, hobbling out of the living room.

Okay then. Guess I read that moment wrong.

For the best really.

I sigh.

Gucci comes up alongside me and rubs her head against my leg.

I reach down and pick up the tray with the plates. “Come on, baby girl, let’s go do the dishes.”