Page 52 of Unexpected Company
My eyes flutter closed. The last sap of my energy depleted. Aftershocks of pleasure tingle in my limbs and I open my eyes and lift onto my elbows to find Garrett’s head tipped to the sky.
Fuck, he is the hottest man I’ve ever met, with his beautiful hazel eyes, his mussed hair and his perfectly styled beard. The broad lines of his chest. The soft swell of his stomach. And those thighs? Thick and muscular and strong enough to hold me down. That’s without mentioning all the inner qualities that make Garrett Reed perfect. His kindness, his willingness to take care of me, his humour, his passion for his work.
He was quite possibly made just for me.
“Okay there Gare Bear?” I ask, pulling myself from under him. I’m shivering now. My clothing wet, the air cold, and the adrenaline wearing off. But I am also so incredibly fucking happy, I don’t know what to do with these intense emotions.
He meets my gaze and smiles.
“Never been better. Though give me a moment to catch my breath.”
I chuckle, then push to my feet, aches and pains evident in numerous parts of my body.
“I may freeze out here, if I wait any longer,” I say jokingly. Garrett’s brows furrow and he shakes his head, moving to his feet and offering me a hand.
“Shit. Let’s get you warmed up.” He wraps an arm around my shoulder and I lean into him, letting him guide me through the back door, down the hallway and into the bathroom.
We’re quiet as he strips me, leaning around my shivering frame to switch on the shower. When steam fills the small room, Garrett gently urges me under the spray. It hurts at first. The initial sting of hot water hitting too cold skin. But soon I’m warming up, closing my eyes as he edges in at my back to wash my body and hair. I have never felt more wanted, desired or adored than I do in this moment.
Chapter twenty
Garrett
“How is this so salty, yet sweet at the same time?” Roman shoves another forkful of gammon into his mouth, wiping his lips with the back of his sleeve once he’s done.
We’re sitting in the lounge, Roman crossed legged on the sofa facing me. The fire roars, filling the room with a pleasant heat and the scent of burning wood. Fairy lights twinkle in the tree, while outside, the wind has picked up, its howling tune seeping through the cracks in the aged walls of the cottage. After our shower, Roman climbed into his favourite reindeer pyjamas, but was still chilly, so we decided not to sit at the kitchen counter, choosing instead the ambient warmth of the lounge and burning log fire. I’d had my hesitations about today – not wanting him to catch a cold – but I don’t regret it. How could I when every moment spent with Roman is like looking at the world through a new pair of glasses?
He quite literally (and now I sound like him!) lights up my life.
“The gammon was smoked by the butcher – that gives it the salty flavour,” I answer. “I slow cooked it in a mix of orange juice and honey, to coat it with that sticky sweetness.”
Roman pushes a carrot around his plate, swiping it through the thick gravy he doused his potatoes in. “It’s so good. I haven’t eaten a Christmas dinner like this in…” His eyes dart to the side like he’s looking for the answer somewhere in the ether. “Years. Where did you learn to cook like this?”
I sip at the spicy mulled wine in my mug before answering.
“My mum is an avid cook. Big, hearty meals were her go to. Indulgent cottage pies, rich, creamy curries, roasts with all the trimmings. I spent hours watching and helping her in the kitchen. Before…”
Roman hums under his breath.
“It’s their loss, you know?”
I quirk my head to the side in question.
“That you’re not in their life because they chose not to support you. They don’t get to see how incredible you are.”
Blood pools in my cheeks, and I run a hand over the back of my neck, at a loss for words. I know we’ve had a good time together these past few days, but knowing he thinks that of me, thinks I’mincredible,fills me with this hope that maybe what we’ve been building here could exist back in the real world.
“Thank you,” I say, bringing my mug to my lips again, chuckling when Roman brings the carrot to his mouth, his nose wrinkling in disgust as he bares his teeth at it.
“You don’t have to eat that,” I say, pointing at the offending vegetable.
“You drank tea for me when you hate it, so the least I can do is eat this little orange abomination.”
Twisting in my seat, I put down my mug and remove my plate from my lap, leaving them both on the coffee table next to us.
“Roman, you never have to do anything you hate. Certainly not to please me. Now give me the carrot.”
He rolls his eyes, but holds the fork out, and I eat it in one bite, the sweet flavour bursting on my tongue. Faking a shudder, Roman smiles, his eyes crinkling with the action.
