Chapter Fourteen
When Avery got back from Myla’s the next morning, it was to find her house exactly as she’d left it—including Holden sitting on the couch with the same stern, thoughtful look on his face.
“So,” he said, and Avery kept her back to him, focusing instead on the tiny radio perched above her TV set.
She tinkered with the stereo, and a bouncing, bubblegum-pop song blasted through the speakers. Finally, something to break the tension. Even if “Call Me Maybe” was the slightest bit inappropriate for their deep, adult discussion.
“You wanted to give this a try. This, us, thing.”
“I do.” He scrubbed a hand over the bristle of his chin, and she fought back the urge to drool. Why did he have to look like a damn Brawny advertisement during their serious discussion?
She joined him on the couch. “Okay. Let’s do it. I’ve made a list of terms and conditions—”
“No terms, no conditions.” His mouth was a hard line of determination.
He slid closer so that her knee grazed the firm muscle of his leg. Even that slight touch sent an electric spark surging between her thighs. He had her. It was over.
A one-hit KO.
“Then what…?”
“You’ll belong to me—”
“Belong seems a little caveman-ish.”
“We’re together. That’s it.” He cupped his strong hand around her nape, and every ounce of air in her body was gone. There was only him, the mintiness of his breath, and the scorching heat of his firm lips as he kissed her.
She responded to him without thinking, deepening the touch until she lost herself in the swirl of his tongue, the taste of his mouth.
When he pulled away, the room was spinning, moving in slow-motion circles. All she could see was the handsome face in front of her. If this was the hard sell, then she’d fallen for it.
Hook, line, and sucker.
“Tonight, I’m making you dinner. It’s going to be a real date. You and me. Our first real date.”
He could cook? Cook, like, not out of a box or stolen from a lunch trolley, cook? The Marines must have done him up right.
“That sounds good.” She moved to turn up the radio, but he grabbed her wrist.
“There’s one other thing.” The pressure of his touch brought on a wash of memories, and it was all she could do to focus on his words rather than think over all the dirty new ways they could christen their relationship.
“I don’t think we should have sex.”
Well. That was the worst idea she’d ever heard.
Who the hell would want something like that? Or, more accurately, not want something like that? That would be like asking for no daisies in spring or no Price is Right on a day home sick from work. It simply wasn’t done.
“Come again?” She winced, realizing her pun.
“I don’t think we should have sex.”
“Why? Is your man pump closed for business? I learned this trick in a magazine that can straighten that right out.”
“No. It’s a fresh start. For both of us.”
It was like a high-school movie. This wasn’t the macho Marine she’d become so accustomed to. But all of a sudden, for no reason at all, it also felt kind of sweet.
Or maybe the reason was the earnestness in those dark irises. Or the slight curve of his mouth.
Nobody had ever really wanted to slow things down with her. Mostly, the guys she’d been with would give up on her if it took too long to unhook her bra. But that was before Holden.
This was new. Exciting.
And she’d be damned if someone said she hadn’t been up for a new challenge.
“Fine. We don’t have sex. What’s this special date? You cook me dinner, and then what?”
“Then anything you want us to do.”
Polo? Rollerblading? Laser tag? In comparison to sex with Holden, everything else sounded lame at best. She’d have to bide her time until she came up with another idea.
“Why do you have to be the one to cook dinner?” She squinted at him.
“Because I know you. And I don’t have a death wish.”
That stung. Especially when she intended to prove him wrong.
“Well, if you want the whole Peaches-and-Herb date night, wouldn’t I be the traditional little homemaker?” She could do that. She could pack his lunch and find his slippers and stoke his pipe or whatever. Maybe she only thought she couldn’t because she’d never really tried.
But if there was a first time for their relationship, there was a first time for everything else, too. A fresh start.
“That’s not really the idea—”
“No, let me finish my indignation here. I can cook. I watch that Barefoot Duchess or whatever like all the time. Plus, I watch that show with the people who have to cook with canned bread and, like, quail sphincters. I can definitely do that.”
“Are you saying you want to cook?”
Her stomach churned, but she knew what she had to do. “Yes.”
“Do you even have food in your house?”
She had to think about that one. It’d been five days since her shopping trip with Myla, but she definitely still had some food. Half a bag of Cheetos. A smattering of canned ham that had been there when she’d moved in. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d opened the fridge, but the point of that thing was to keep stuff from going all gross, right?
“Yeah, totally. I have, like, all the food.”
He raised his eyebrows. “I don’t know about this.”
They sat in silence for what felt like forever. Did he seriously not trust her to cook? He’d seen her accomplish a lot of things scarier and more complicated than scrambling an egg.
“Fine. Then I’ll have to prove it to you, fair and square. We’re going to have a Food-Channel challenge. Each of us can use anything in my kitchen to create a refined dinner for the other person. You think you’re so fancy? Make me a better meal than what I prepare for you.”
“And what does the winner get? Consumption?”
“No. If I win, then we have sex tonight. Like, crazy Bruno-Mars-lyrics kind of sex.”
“And in the more likely event of my victory?”
“Well, what do you want?”
The words flew out of her mouth before she knew what she was saying. Stupid. Now he could ask for anything. Anything at all. She might as well have offered herself up as a satanic sacrifice, or worse, agreed to go back to Maryland for Sunday breakfast with his mother.
She stared him down, intent on his answer. But seriously, what could he want, anyway? Unlimited funds at Nine West, maybe, but other than that, she had no idea what more a person could need. He had access to the château d’Avery. There were few privileges in life better than that.
“Well, don’t just sit there,” she urged.
“I know what I want. You’re going to hate it, though,” he said.
“An hour of Lifetime movies with Myla?”
“Worse.” An evil smile spread across his face, his teeth pearly white with ominousness. “If I win, you’re with me. No holds barred, no tricks, and no conditions.” Laughter played across every strong feature. He thought he had her cornered. “Caveman-ish or not, you’re my woman.”
“That’s how you plan to win me over? By forcing my hand?”
“Do you know a better way to get you to do anything?”
Maybe he did have her cornered.
“Fine, we’ve struck an accord. The competition will begin at six. That’ll give us four hours to get this poppin’.”
“May the best man win,” she added.
“Oh, he will.” He laughed.
She chuckled with him, unsettled by her sudden hope that he was right.