Page 17 of Sweet Possession
“Chocolate. Always chocolate.”
Cora made the best pancakes I’d ever eaten. While she was makingthem, and as we munched our way through the stack, she told me about her neighbor who had taught her how to cook when she was eleven. When Freddy would let her, Cora spent many days with the little old lady learning how to bake.
She didn’t say as much, but from the way Cora spoke of the old dear,it sounded like she’d been something of a mother figure and helped Cora through some difficult times in her teenage years.
Sadly, the old lady died a year ago, and Cora hadn’t baked since.Freddy constantly promised to buy her ingredients, only to spend the money feeding his gambling habits. She’d kept her knowledge up by watching cooking program after cooking program, memorizing the ingredients and the steps so she could one day make all the things she wanted.
I could have listened to her talk all day. The more relaxed shebecame, the more passionate she was about all the things she liked to bake, and my mind was working overtime, thinking of all the things I could do to help her find her love of cooking again.
When we were full of pancakes, and after I’d tidied up, after all, thechef didn’t cookanddo the washing up, I gave Cora a tour of the house. We went from room to room with Cora in stunned silence. Her eyes darted all over the place as if she were walking through the hallways of a palace, her face lighting up in awe.
Aside from my master bedroom and Cora’s room on the first floor,there were four other guest bedrooms, all with ensuites.
Downstairs was my office, where I spent most of my time when I wasn’t in my office at Onyx, along with a huge living area with a black leather sofa, a 98″ television complete with surround sound, and an enormous electric fireplace set in a white and black marble feature wall.
Opposite the fireplace was a wall of glass looking out into the garden. It was easily my favorite room in the house.
In the far corner was a door that opened into a library, with shelvesand shelves of books, ranging from non-fiction to sci-fi books, young-adult to outright smutty books. I wasn’t in the least bit ashamed of what I read, no matter how much Nash teased me over my choice of books.
My way of relaxing was lying on the sofa with the fire burning, a glassof red wine in one hand, and a good book in the other, no matter the genre. Nash was simply an uncultured dickhead.
Aside from the few recipe books I had in the kitchen, I didn’t have anycookbooks in the library, something I intended to correct as soon as possible. Especially after Cora said she wasn’t a big reader of fiction when I told her she could help herself to any book she wanted to read.
I led her out into the garden, explaining that aside from cleanerscoming to the house twice a week, and the gardener coming three times a week, I didn’t have many visitors. Nash and Sav aside of course.
It seemed to appease her that I didn’t have many guests, and withher worry that her dad would find out where she was, I made a mental note to postpone the cleaners and the gardeners coming for the next two weeks to give her time to settle in.
Much like she’d done with the house, Cora took in the garden withawe.
“Wow,”she said, stopping to lean forward to take a deep inhale of therose bush we’d stopped by. She closed her eyes, and a look of peace and contentment washed over her.
For the few seconds she stood with her eyes closed, smelling theblood-red flowers, I was mesmerized by her. If I’d have been quicker, I would have grabbed my phone out of my pocket and taken a picture to capture this moment forever.
Regardless, it would be engraved in my mind for all of eternity.
“They smell beautiful,”she said, giving me a shy smile as shestraightened up.
Reaching out, I plucked a rose from the bush, careful to avoid anythorns before handing it to her.“Here. I’ve got a vase somewhere inside. You can put it in your room.”
The smile she gave me almost made me melt on the spot.
Christ, Cora had me turning into the biggest sap on the planet. Nashwould have had a field day if he’d seen me right then, I couldn’t remember a time when I’devergiven a woman flowers.
“Thank you,”she said, taking the rose from me. Our fingers brushed,the sparks between us almost visible.
“You’re welcome, baby girl.”
I indicated for her to carry on walking, wanting to show her the rest ofthe grounds. She twiddled the rose in her fingers but as we turned the corner, she lowered her hand and looked at me, her brows furrowed in caution.
“Why do you call me baby girl?”she asked, her voice quiet, almost as if shewas afraid to ask.
I shrugged, a pang of disappointment cresting through me. Did shenot like me calling her that?“I just thought it suited you, but I can stop if it bothers you?”
She was thoughtful for no more than a few seconds, but it felt like hersilence stretched on for eternity.
“No, I don’t mind,”she finally said, giving me that shy smileagain.
Fuck, those lips.
