Page 20 of Crave Me
Chapter Seven
Chloe
He kept me reeling like I was on a seesaw. Up, down, briefly hovering in a suspended safety zone, where your feet didn’t touch the ground, but everything was just as it should be. It was the crash to the bottom when he turned gentle and teasing and the sudden, thrilling rush to the peak when he was demanding and dominant. Every time I left a conversation with Simon, I spun in a few circles, chasing the conversation.
Perhaps this was part of his game. Keep me off-balance enough to not know what to expect, with moments of calm to keep me trusting him. Crazy man.
If it was his game, I’d play it with perfection.
Rolling to my side, I pushed myself to sitting and grabbed my robe he’d removed earlier. I pulled it up to my shoulders, the cotton robe scratching over the fresh gauze.
Wisps of my loosened hair brushed along my cheeks, tickling me as I caught up to him in the kitchen. He already had two places set at the kitchen island and had poured us each a glass of wine.
“This was open so I assumed you liked it,” he said, holding out a bottle of Malbec to me like he was a sommelier at a five-star restaurant.
“I do. Thank you.”
With my hands in my lap, I waited while he served both of us. He’d helped himself to my kitchen like he belonged there, which I didn’t mind in the least. I forced myself to stay focused on the present, not on runaway daydreams where an evening like this could become a typical occurrence. He scooped up two platefuls of spaghetti carbonara and placed breadsticks on both of our plates. Then he filled two salad bowls with Cardonna’s Italian salad, walked around the island and sat next to me.
A manila folder perched haphazardly on the counter. But there was nothing haphazard about the file or its contents.
My contract.
My throat went dry and I took a sip, unable to peel my eyes from the folder holding all my future possibilities.
“You’re not eating,” Simon said.
I jerked my head up, away from the folder and to his eyes. His gray-blues were crinkled at the edges. He was clearly amused I was so focused on something other than the delicious meal he’d brought for me.
“Sorry.” I twisted my fork around the pasta and took a bite. “This is my favorite meal, you know.”
“I seem to remember a fit you once threw when your dad brought home Cardonna’s and he didn’t grab carbonara.”
My pulse pounded inside my chest. He’d remembered that? I’d acted like a spoiled brat. An adult, but still in college, it’d been the only thing I craved while I was away at school. I hadn’t expected Simon to be at our house, tucked away with Cassie in my parents’ study when I’d come home only to find my dad had brought home dinner and didn’t think to get my favorite meal.
“I’m surprised you remember,” I muttered, forcing myself to continue eating. Of all the memories he could have of me, me acting like a brat wasn’t endearing.
“It was pretty epic. You always did know how to get everyone’s attention.”
He’d never acted like I ever had his attention, except for during political conversations with my dad and him. Since I was the only liberal in the family, my dad often rolled his eyes at me. Yet Simon and I, despite our political leanings, were always able to have intelligent and respectful conversations. Although they did get heated. Cassie would leave the room long before we were done, and once she went to bed, Simon and I would talk for hours.
I alternated my dinner between bites of pasta and wine, munching on my breadstick and soaking it into the leftover sauce on my plate to capture every last morsel.
We didn’t speak, but there was nothing to say. Our past wasn’t a sidewalk filled with memories I wanted to stroll down over the next few weeks. And Ireallyneeded to stop thinking of my sister when he was around.
“You can eat,” he said, startling me.
“I said this is my favorite.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t expect you to inhale it like you haven’t eaten in days.” He winked playfully and scooted back on his barstool.
I jumped as the metal scratched along my floor.
Without saying a word, he took my plate and wine glass, dumped the plate in the sink and refilled my glass. I hadn’t yet reached for it when the manila folder fell onto my bamboo placemat.
“Since your favorite dinner and wine didn’t seem to relax you,” he said, those eyes crinkling again. So glad my nerves amused him. “Perhaps we should get to why I’m here.”
“That’d be—” I cleared my throat. Shaking fingers wrapped around the stem of my wine glass. “That’d be good.”
