Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 74940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
“I had the chef prepare us a Caribbean-inspired feast,” Brett says. “I hope you like spicy food.”
“Adore it. Is it jerk?” I ask August.
“Jerk is coming, ma’am,” he says. “This is your appetizer—a trio of ceviche featuring the day’s freshest catch. Delicate slices of mahi-mahi marinated in zesty lime, shrimp infused with coconut milk and a hint of chili, and octopus adorned with passion fruit essence served in coconut shells.”
Totally adorable...and welcome, as that amuse bouche left me wanting more. August refills our water glasses and then leaves us.
I take a bite of the mahi-mahi and swallow. “Delicious. I’ve never had octopus before.”
“In truth?” Brett smiles. “Neither have I, but I’m willing to try anything once.” He spears a piece of the octopus ceviche and pops it into his mouth.
“Well?” I say after he swallows.
“A little rubbery, but the flavor is out of this world. Try some.”
I take a bite. Brett’s right. It’s chewy but delicious. So is the shrimp, but my favorite is the gentle flavor of the mahi-mahi. The portions are small, and I gobble it up quickly.
Brett relishes his, taking his time with the appetizer. It’s a joy to watch him eat. He seems to savor every bite, even closing his eyes as he swallows. Watching him eat is...well...pretty damned erotic. Not as erotic as coming on his hard thigh, but still...
August returns with our dinners on two dome-covered plates.
“Ah, the jerk,” I say.
“Yes, ma’am,” he replies, setting a plate in front of me and lifting the dome. “Grilled jerk-marinated breast of chicken and a seared filet of red snapper. The chicken was marinated in a blend of scallions, thyme, Scotch bonnet peppers, and warm spices. The red snapper is dressed with a mango salsa that offers a refreshing burst of sweetness and acidity that should balance the heat of the jerk spices nicely. On the side we have coconut-infused rice and pigeon peas, roasted plantains, and a medley of grilled vegetables drizzled with a citrus glaze.”
August lifts Brett’s dome while I’m still staring at the gorgeous colors on my plate—the bright orange of the mango salsa, the vibrant green of the grilled zucchini, the red cherry tomatoes, and the deep purple of the grilled onion. Truly a work of art.
August opens a bottle of red wine. “The sommelier chose a Pinot Noir, a light red that will complement the chicken and fish and is also bold enough to enhance the spiciness of the jerk seasoning.”
“I suppose I should have asked if you like red wine,” Brett says to me.
“Not a problem. I’m a bourbon girl, but when I do drink wine, it’s usually red.”
I learn something about Brett in that moment. He takes charge. He didn’t ask me what I like to eat or drink ahead of time. He chose a Caribbean feast. I have no problem with that, but what if I did? What if I was a picky eater and turned up my nose at raw fish?
Leroy liked to take charge like that—order for me in restaurants and the like. My self-esteem was still in the toilet when we met, so I let him. I was mesmerized that such an amazing man could be interested in me. But when he flew the coop, I decided no longer would I be such a weak female. If I ever had another relationship, we’d be on equal footing.
So is there a future for Brett and me? The physical chemistry is there, but long term? Maybe, but only with some rule changes. A lot of rule changes.
In the meantime, I’ll be happy to take another orgasm.
August pours some wine into Brett’s glass. Brett picks it up, swirls it, and then buries his nose in the goblet. Finally, he tastes it. “Excellent,” he says. “Please thank the sommelier for me.”
“Of course, Mr. Dawson.” August fills my glass and then tops off Brett’s. “Will there be anything else?”
“I think we’re good for now,” Brett says. “Sienna?”
I nod.
August bows and leaves us.
Brett raises his glass, and for a split second I think he’s going to offer a toast, but he simply takes a sip. Then, “So tell me, Sienna. How did your evening with Alex go last night?”
“I think you know. Our clothes got washed away in the tide.”
He smiles, swirling the wine in his glass slowly as he watches it. Does he want more details? Surely Alex told him what happened. We ran into the other three men after our...whatever it was.
“Alex is a great guy,” Brett says, “but he tends to fall hard and fast. He and Riv both. Seb and I... We know how to separate lust from emotion.”
“What are you saying? That Alex has fallen for me?”
“No.” He takes a sip, swallows. “I’m just telling you how things are. Alex is a writer. He has to feel things to be able to write stories that evoke emotion in the reader.”