I walk across the open-plan living room and stop in front of a window. Directly below is a long promenade with bikers and pedestrians weaving through shops. Open-air restaurants pepper the area, and there’s a narrow beach with a few groups of young people drinking beers and soaking up the sun. One guy’s taking photos of his girlfriend while she poses like a centerfold model.
I turn around to see Ras washing his hands at the kitchen sink. “You need to eat something before our flight,” he says, glancing at me.
“I’m not hungry.”
He dries his hands on a checkered kitchen towel before moving to open the fridge and pull out what looks to be a bag full of groceries.
Inside are a bunch of things that he quickly lays out on the counter.
Fruit, granola bars, yogurt, crackers, and a pack of gummy bears. The real ones, not the sugar-free kind Mamma occasionally allows me to buy at the grocery store.
“Pick something.”
I walk up to the counter and take the gummy bears. “Thanks.”
His eyes narrow. “Gemma.”
“What? You said to pick something, and I did.”
He plucks the gummy bears out of my hand. “You can have these, but only after you eat something with nutritional value. You lost a lot of nutrients because of your bug.”
“Does your job description really stretch this far?”
He runs his tongue over his top lip, shaking his head as he opens a drawer and takes a spoon from it. “Yes, unfortunately, it covers all kinds of unusual scenarios.”
He picks up a cup of peach yogurt.
My favorite.
Next thing I know, he’s handing the spoon and the yogurt to me. “Eat this.”
Our eyes clash together, and I can’t stand the way he’s looking at me.
Cold and closed off.
There’s none of the warmness from before, and the thing is, I’ve gotten used to it.
I’ve grown to like it.
And I want it back.
What do I have to do for that to happen? I’ve already apologized.
Frustration bubbles up inside of me. I fold my arms over my chest and shake my head.
“Do you not like this flavor?”
“I love peaches, but like I said, I’m not hungry.”
He observes me with flat-lipped silence before putting the yogurt and the spoon back down on the counter. Then his hands are on my waist, and he lifts me up to sit on it, my bare thighs sliding against the cool quartz.
“Hey!”
“We don’t have time for this,” he growls. He opens the yogurt and brings a spoon of it right up to my mouth. “Open.”
I try to slide sideways from him, but he stops me by placing a heavy palm on my thigh. Warmth spreads over my skin, and my pulse stutters. I wrap my lips over my teeth and shake my head.
Ras glares at me with utter exasperation. “Gemma.”
He touches the spoon to my lips, but I jerk my chin up, and the yogurt goes flying. My eyes widen as it lands in a light orange splatter across his shirt. A beat passes, during which darkness seeps into his gaze. I should be worried, but instead, all I feel is a thrill at breaking past the wall of ice.
It doesn’t suit him.
Slowly, he puts the spoon on the counter, and flattens his palm against the smooth surface, his thumb accidentally brushing against the side of my bare thigh. He steps closer, forcing me to part my knees to make room for him. My head spins from his proximity, and the few inches between us swirl with electricity.
“If your fiancé knew how feral you are, he’d demand a refund,” he growls. His face is so close, I can make out a tiny scar on his right cheek. “He thinks he bought himself an obedient wife, when what he’s really getting is a brat.”
I suck in a breath, searching for a response that will keep him here for a little longer. “I guess it’ll be a nice surprise for him on our wedding night.”
I regret it immediately, because his expression turns deadly.
He reaches for something behind me—the yogurt—and says, “If you insist on acting like a wild animal, I’m going to treat you like one.” He dips his finger inside the cup, brings it to my lips, and squeezes my jaw with his other hand, forcing my mouth to open.
He slides his finger inside my mouth.
A hard pulse appears in my neck before making a slow slide through my body to settle between my legs. The taste of peaches and something more decadent fizzles over my tastebuds, and before I think twice about it, I close my mouth around Ras’s finger and suck.
A slight tremor runs through him, his gaze molten as he watches me. I pull my head back and give the tip of his finger a quick lick as it pops out of my mouth.
He drops his hand to his side and does nothing for a long moment, during which nerves skitter over my spine.
We can only pretend we’re not crossing a line if we’re both in on it. If he points it out right now, there’s a chance I’ll combust and die from embarrassment.
My teeth dig into my bottom lip. “I—”
He doesn’t let me finish. He moves quickly, as if intent not to let me get the next word out, and puts his peach-flavored finger in my mouth again.
The room spins and darkens as I suck the yogurt off him. His mouth parts on a quick breath, his body visibly tense.
“Stronzo! Stronzo!”
The sudden high-pitched noise makes us break apart. He takes his finger out of my mouth and takes a step back as I slide off the counter.
We stare at each other for a long moment.
Finally, I ask, “What the hell is that?”
“That’s Churro,” Ras says, turning away from me before…adjusting his pants?
A thrill zings up my spine.
“My parrot,” he adds.
My mind struggles to catch up. “Your what?”
“My parrot,” he says as he makes his way across the kitchen toward where the noise came from.
I follow. “Why do you have a parrot?”
“He’s a pet.” He glances down and mutters, “I need to get a new shirt.”
I watch as Ras grasps the back of his T-shirt with one hand and pulls it over his head, flashing me his tanned, muscular back before he disappears into another room.
I swallow and keep following him.
The room seems to be his bedroom. The blinds are nearly fully drawn, casting the room in shadows.
Ras grabs a shirt out of a drawer and slips it on. “Churro doesn’t like it when it’s bright, so I keep him here,” he explains nodding toward the corner of the room where there’s a large bird cage.
I look around, still reeling from the last few minutes. There’s a large bed with a modern-looking bed frame, a leather armchair with a stack of books beside it, and a desk.
Ras lifts the blinds a little, and the grays of the room suddenly transform into shades of blue.
I move closer and peer into the bird cage. It’s got multiple levels connected with all sorts of ladders, and toys and feeders hang off the bars. Inside, a green and yellow parrot the size of my forearm stares at me with one orange eye.
“Pretty girl! Pretty girl!”
“He says that to every woman,” Ras says. “Don’t let it get to your head.”
I glare at him. “Why do I have a feeling you’re lying? I’m going to think I’m special until I see evidence proving otherwise, thank you very much.”