Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 83699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
She hadn’t bothered because no one, except the Czechs themselves, could make it like Ransom.
He opened another warming tray to reveal the traditional white dumplings.
“You actually serve this at your restaurant?” she asked in awe.
He raised a brow. “Of course. It was one of your favorites. And Honorine approved of adding it to the menu.”
Her heart beat like a drum in her chest. “You never stopped thinking about me?”
His beautiful gaze on her, he shook his head. “I told myself it was because you had such excellent taste. But everything I made was for you.”
Ava threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck, kissing every part of his face until he took her cheeks in his palms and held her still for the most delicious, ravishing kiss.
Then he whispered, “May I serve you?”
He created a perfect plate, the goulash with three perfectly round dumplings placed delicately around the edge soaking up the juices. He accompanied that with vegetables.
“For color,” he told her. Bright green broccoli, carrots that popped orange, and white cauliflower, all heavily roasted with a hint of char.
“Please sit.” He pulled out her chair, sneaking it back in to bring her close to the table.
He sat beside her, and for a moment, they simply enjoyed the view of stars and moon and the illuminated spires of the Golden Gate.
Then she dug in. “Every morsel is perfect,” she said, gobbling it all down despite the snap dog they’d had in the park.
When they were done, the last of the dumplings wiping up the stew’s remnants, he whisked away the plates, returning with two bowls and setting one in front of her.
“English trifle?” Her voice rose with wonder. “Is it as good as Fernsby’s?” Fernsby’s trifle was incomparable.
He raised an eyebrow. “Who do you think taught me how to make it?”
The combination of bananas, ladyfingers soaked in sherry, strawberry jam, and whipped cream melted on her tongue.
“And?”
She lowered her voice as though Fernsby lurked just around the corner. “Do not ever, ever let Fernsby know that I said your trifle is even better than his.”
“It’s our secret.” Ransom zipped his lips, and she wanted to kiss him. Then, once again, Ransom stood. “What would you like? Coffee, latte, mocha?”
She tugged him down by his tie. “You,” she whispered.
He pulled her up and into a kiss, going deep, teasing her with his tongue. Then, hauling her up in his arms, without even letting her catch her breath, he carried her into his bedroom.
The room was done in deep shades—a dark mahogany dresser and matching tallboy, a burgundy coverlet, navy pillows. The bed was big and masculine, just like him. He let her feet slide to the thick Persian carpet.
“What I like,” he said, a flame in his eyes, “is that you’re wearing a very feminine business suit—the consummate female executive, commanding yet sexy as hell. And now I get to strip you down to the naughty lady I know you are.”
She raised a haughty brow. “Naughty? I’ve never been naughty in my life. I’m always perfectly circumspect.”
The heat of his smile reached deep inside her. “Oh, I remember so many delicious times when you were naughty, even filthy.”
She clapped a hand over his mouth. “Don’t say another word about that. It’s our secret.”
Behind her cupped hand, he sweetly said, “Like our secret that you prefer my trifle recipe over Fernsby’s?”
She eyed him. “Is this some sort of blackmail?”
He shook his head slowly. “I’m just letting you know I love your secret self.” Then he lowered his mouth to hers and made the secret parts of her burn for him.
Instead of ripping their clothes off like this morning in her office—had it really only been this morning?—they made undressing a slow dance.
Ransom peeled her suit jacket down her arms. She pushed the jacket off his wide, muscled shoulders. He slipped the buttons loose on her blouse. She pulled his tie free and undid every shirt button, each one punctuated by a kiss.
Standing back, Ransom gazed at her in just her bra and skirt and heels. “My God, your breasts are beautiful.”
Then he stepped in, cupping her, tweaking a tight bead through the lace.
Ava moaned. He’d always made her moan like that.
And he always would.
* * *
Ransom salivated for her, but before he let her skirt fall to the floor, he spoke the truth in his heart. “I love you so much. I should never have let you go. I should have followed you and gone down on my knees to beg you to take me any way you’d have me. I’m so sorry it’s taken me fifteen years to admit that.”
She placed her palm on his cheek. “Maybe we weren’t ready,” she whispered in the sweetest, most seductive voice. “Maybe we needed all that time to learn who we are on the inside.” She put her fingertips to the swell of her breasts. “Maybe we simply had to become the man and woman we are now to really understand what our hearts had lost.”