Page 20 of An Inconvenient Marriage
“… never been, so I’d love to see how it all works.”
I snapped out of my musings—or delusions—just in time to hear her last few words. Unfortunately, I had no clue what the hell she was talking about and had zero desire to ask her to repeat herself.
So I did the only thing I could.
“Let’s eat before the food gets cold.” Not waiting for a response, I spun around and headed to the dining room, trying like all hell to squish the sliver of guilt churning inside my stomach.
She’d done nothing to deserve it.
At least that’s what I kept telling myself throughout the dinner. Which was an absolutely amazing spread ofensalada templadafollowed by wild sea bass with poached vegetables and finally ending with my favorite dish: an orange and chocolate flan.
Martina and Renata had completely outdone themselves, and yet Natalie had barely eaten anything. All the woman did was push the food around on her damn plate.
What was up with that?
Or rather, what the fuck was up withher?
She wasn’t the spoiled little rich girl I’d expected, or at least she didn’t act like one. Her interactions with my staff—albeit brief—was nothing less than polite. She wasn’t demanding. She didn’t look down on anyone.
In fact, she reminded me of a newborn calf. Hesitant and uncertain. More than once I’d noticed how she’d open and close her mouth as if she was choosing her words wisely. And then there was that moment in the hotel room after our wedding… The way she’d closed her eyes and held her breath was confusing to say the least.
Surely, she hadn’t expected me to—
Fuck.
My mind ran in circles, getting nowhere very damn slowly. Shoving the thoughts aside, I focused on my dessert instead.
I’d barely slid my fork through the silky goodness when my gaze flicked to Natalie. And again, she wasn’t eating.
“The flan not up to your standards either?”
Stunned blue eyes collided with mine. “Wh-what?”
“You’ve barely touched the first and second course”—I set my fork on my empty plate and leaned back against my seat—“and now you’re staring at the flan as if it had offended you somehow.”
Teeth worrying her bottom lip, she eyed her dessert for a long few seconds, then lifted her gaze to mine. “There’s nothing wrong with the food. It looks delicious—”
“Then prove it.”
Her brows drew together. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” I raised a brow. “Prove. It.”
Heat sparked in her eyes. A tiny flicker of anger. It was gone so fast again, I almost thought I’d imagined it.
Glaring at me, she curled her fingers around the fork and ground out, “Fine.”
She didn’t move. I lifted my brow higher, silently warning herI can do this all night long.
The message was received because she scooped up a bite and slid it into her mouth barely a minute later.
I knew the exact moment the taste hit her tongue, too. Her eyes went wide before she closed them and tipped back her head.
“Hmm.” Her jaw moved back and forth like she was savoring the silky feel of the chocolate on her palate. “It’s so good.”
It was my turn to close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose. Because holy shit, the sounds this woman made seemed to have a direct line to my groin. And naturally had my mind reeling with thoughts of other, more intimate scenarios, where she moaned exactly like that.
Mierda. I’d lost my damned mind ifthatwas what I was thinking about.
