by Mandy Rosko
“Okay,” Isla said.
Had that been necessary? Her nose was already telling her she would like what was served without Arturo showing off. And why was he showing off? He was getting into her panties no matter how impressive his cooks turned out to be.
Was he trying to be impressive? This felt almost like a date, but it couldn’t be. The entire thing was throwing her off. The smell of good food kept her from being completely tense.
Jeffery listed off everything else that was on the hot plate. There were steamed vegetables, also seasoned, and a cold garden salad, which she hadn’t noticed sitting on the tray beneath the hot tray.
Jeffery listed everything he found important, from the herbs and spices used to where everything had been grown. She thought she heard the word organic and non-GMO thrown around a few more times, not to mention that some of the spices had apparently been imported, but she couldn't be entirely sure.
She was still having a mini orgasm over those smells, and that was distracting her from what the butler was saying.
Arturo chuckled. "Thank you, Jeffery, that's enough. I think she gets the point."
"Of course," Jeffery said as he began to plate their meals.
She couldn't wait to dig in.
The salad came first, and it was interesting to note how Jeffery offered her a choice of dressings. He had everything on his tray from Caesar and French all the way down to just plain oil and vinegar. Of course, those dressings didn’t come in the bottles Isla bought from the grocery store. They were stored in metal bowls that sat over ice trays. The oil was stored in a glass container of some kind.
"French," she requested. It was her absolute favorite thing to put on a salad.
Jeffery also plated her salmon and mashed potatoes, along with her vegetables. There was no way in hell Isla was going to be able to eat this much food, but she was sure as hell going to try.
Still, there was something a little strange about being served as though she was in a high-end restaurant—the kind she’d never bother going to because they were too expensive—when she was really a guest in a man's home.
Arturo seemed to pick up on this. He waited for Jeffery to excuse himself and walk off with the trolley before he spoke up.
"You look uncomfortable. Is everything not to your liking?"
"What? No, God, this great," she said. She picked up a fork and stuck her salmon with it.
Yeah, it was flaky all right. It practically fell apart when she touched it. How had Jeffery even managed to get it onto her plate in one piece?
"You don't look like you think it's great," he said.
She shook her head, looking from him to her food and back again. "No, this is amazing. It's just a little strange, that's all. I feel like I'm in a restaurant."
Only there weren't fifty or so people around her, eating, talking, and enjoying themselves with her.
Arturo cocked his head a little to the side. "You hardly grew up poor, or even middle class. Not by a long stretch. You grew up wealthy. Isn't this how you ate at home?"
Isla paused with her food halfway to her lips. She looked right at him, his curious frown telling her so much in that instant.
Yeah, she'd grown up rich, but his version of rich and hers were two entirely different things, and he didn't seem to realize that. He seemed to think it was perfectly normal to have someone plate his food for him, pour his dressing, and ask him if he wanted refills every single time. He was used to feeling like he was in a restaurant because he was constantly surrounded by people who were being paid to serve him.
"I was a rich girl, sure," she said, putting her fork down and shrugging. Then her nerves kicked up a notch as she realized how very careful with her words she needed to be. "But my parents didn’t want to spoil me. I got an allowance every month when I cleaned my room and brought home good grades, and they had a monthly budget they stuck to. I guess my family just wasn’t too comfortable spending money.”
“That’s strange.” He was frowning as if in thought. “Why bother living paycheck to paycheck when you can afford to do otherwise?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I think it was how my parents were raised. My grandfather wasn’t always wealthy, and he really did used to be poor. Saving money and not overspending on things that weren’t necessities just seemed to carry on, even after the family got money.”
Arturo was staring at her now, completely enthralled.
This was good. It meant they were learning about each other and having an, almost, normal conversation. She kept on talking while she had his attention. “We still did a lot of things ourselves, but sometimes there were luxuries. There was a housekeeper, but that was about it. She didn't wear a uniform either."
"What did she wear?" he asked, still frowning in that confused, but curious way he did.
"Her normal clothes. Well, the clothes she could clean in," she explained. "Peggy was always great. Sometimes Mom would go shopping with her, or get her nails done at the salon.”
“Together?”
She nodded. “Yeah, together.”
It hadn’t been a pricey salon either. Just a normal beauty parlor that had good prices.
"With someone paid to do her laundry and clean her toilet, she spent time with her outside of the home?” he asked, dark brows lifting, definitely shocked by the notion.
Isla smiled at him, barely holding back a laugh. "Yeah, of course. They were friends, too."
Arturo stared at her. He really didn't get it.
She shook her head. "Okay, it's like this, whenever we all sat down to eat at our house, we did it at a nice table like this. It wasn't as big of a table, and no one served us either, you know?"
"So how did you get what you needed?" he asked. He was following her, but barely.
"I'd ask my mom to pass the salt," she said. "Or my dad would realize he'd left the barbecue sauce in the fridge or wherever and he'd go to get it. The table was always pretty close to the fridge, so he never had to leave the room and go hunting for it."
She looked at the table quickly. "Jeffery took away the salt and pepper and the dressings, probably because the table would look cluttered with it all here, right?"
"I suppose," he said. “He’s around if I need more.”
"Right, well, all that stuff would just stay on the table, and if I wanted it, but it was closer to you, I'd ask you to pass it over, and you would, and I’d sprinkle it on myself.”
"I see," he said.
He was still frowning though, even when he looked away from her. She had grown up rich, but Arturo’s version of rich was so far out of her league that he didn’t even understand living in a world where there wasn’t someone paid to pass him the salt. She was now giving him something to think about, and not necessarily in a good way if he thought she was picking on him.
Fuck, maybe that was too much. "But this is great though. It's nice to be pampered once in a while."
"Jeffery, Sam, Martina, the rest of the staff, and the cooks are here every night."
Okay, maybe she'd gone too far. "I wasn't trying to embarrass you."
"Who says I'm embarrassed?"
This was a clear sign for her to stop, so she did.
She took a bite of her salmon, which turned out to be the most delicious, moist, and flaky fish she'd ever eaten in her entire life.
She actually moaned when the food touched her tongue and the flavors came together to give her taste buds the pleasurable equivalent of an orgasm.
When she opened her eyes, Arturo was smiling at her in that predatory way she was slowly getting used to.
"It's good," she said, holding her hand to her mouth since there was still a bit of food in there. She swallowed and spoke again. "I take back everything I just said. Having a personal chef is awesome."
"I figured you would see it my way when you tried the food."
Isla took another bite, savoring this one a little longer than the last.
Now that she was eating, all she wanted to do w
as pig-out. She was never going to admit to this feeling out loud, but part of her just wanted to stuff her face and get all that delicious flavor into her mouth as quickly as she could.
It was like swearing off chocolate and ice cream for six months before losing control and going on a craving binge. The only thing that stopped her from doing just that was the fact that Arturo was right there. He was watching her, and he was still smiling, even as he took bites of his own food.
Isla was very aware of the way his fork slid out between his lips every time he ate a piece of fish.
He ate like this all the time, with someone who had to be a five-star chef preparing him his meals every day.
He had to have some serious willpower to not have gotten fat off having this sort of food at his disposal all the time.
She took a bite of her potatoes, if only to take her mind off the fish.
No, that didn't help either. Of course, they were creamy and delicious and perfect.
Isla moaned again.
"You should save those noises for the bedroom," he said.
"Give me food like this to eat in your bedroom and I'll make better noises than this."
The words left her mouth before she could even properly think about what she was saying, and she totally didn't care even when she did realize it.
What did it matter anyway? Who cared if she acted a little immature and kind of, well, not like she was trying to impress him. It was the truth.
This was who she really was. She loved good food, and though she wasn't about to turn into a pig around him, she wasn't about to put a stop on the little noises she made.
This was part of her plan, after all. She wouldn't fake who she was. That way, Arturo might actually like who she was.
If he didn't and this all ended with him kicking her to the curb, then no harm done so long as she still got back the family’s company.
Isla managed to get through her meal without making herself look like she had absolutely no self-control.
She'd finished off her salad, but had to leave behind a little bit of her fish and potatoes. She was too full to eat the rest, and Jeffery returned for her plate.
"Coffee, miss?"
"No, thank you. I'm too full."
Jeffery smiled. "Ah, then should I wait a few moments before bringing your dessert?"
Isla tensed in her seat. "Dessert?"
Arturo was still smiling at her.
She laughed a little. "If I'd known someone had gone to the trouble of also putting together a nice dessert, I would've saved more room."
"Not to worry, miss," Jeffery replied. "The desserts are rarely made in house. Usually they are ordered out and will keep in the freezer."
"Really?" After all of the showing off Arturo had done with the food he got to eat every day, that part surprised her. "What would you have been serving then?"
Arturo was the one who answered for her. "Ice cream cake from Dairy Queen."
She blinked at him. "Really?"
He shrugged. "I don't care what anyone says. There's almost nothing in the world better than that. Except for peanut butter ice cream. That’s in the freezer, too.”
Isla blinked again, and again.
He reached for his water glass. "What? Did you think I only ate five-star meals all the time? I might be a spoiled rich bastard, but I still know where to get the best food for less than fifty dollars."
She smiled. "That was… it was just unexpected."
And it was something nice to know about him. Maybe he wasn't as totally sheltered with his money as she'd thought he was.
An image of Arturo as a young man, still a child, really, after the death of his mother, popped into her mind.
Arturo wasn't sheltered. No one could be sheltered after having a parent taken away from them, especially when it was done by another parent.
Now she really wished she hadn't been looking over those articles in her bedroom.
"I think that will be all, Jeffery," Arturo said, pushing his chair back and standing. "Isla and I will be retiring for the night. You can do the same when you finish here."
It looked as though Jeffery actually bowed a little at the waist. Not so much that it was weird, but she definitely noticed it. "Of course, sir," he said as he collected Isla's and Arturo's plates and glasses, setting them on his trolley and cleaning up.
She didn't move. Part of her thought she should offer her assistance. At least hand him the plates or help stack them. Jeffery seemed to know where her hands were about to go, however, and he always beat her to the punch, reaching for the plates and taking them before she could touch them.
Arturo was behind her in that moment, and Isla's chair was pulled back from the table while she was still sitting in it.
She looked up. He was smiling down at her, offering his hand. He could almost be another polite gentleman who was interested in winning her approval, instead of the billionaire who wanted to play a game with her.
"Come with me, Isla, we have business to take care of."
It was the glint in his eyes when he spoke of business that reminded her he was anything but a gentleman.
She shivered. Goose bumps formed along her arms and legs, even on her thighs.
This was perfectly all right, because tonight, she didn't want a gentleman. Gentlemen were usually not so notable when it came time to go to bed with them. Arturo looked like he would be very notable indeed. His grip was strong and warm when she put her hand into his larger palm, allowing herself to be pulled from her seat to stand.
So close. She was so damned close that she could smell his cologne. She could feel the hard firmness of his muscles beneath the expensive, casual suit he wore.
Any lingering trace of nerves she might have had fled her in that moment. All she wanted was to be taken to bed and to find out exactly what sort of skills this man had that gave him such a playboy reputation.
"Are you ready?" he asked softly, his thumb brushing across her cheek.
14
There were no more staff members or servants down the wing that Arturo took her. It was completely in the opposite direction of her own room on the west end of this huge mansion. She didn’t know if there was any significance to that, other than the fact that Arturo might not want her hanging around after the deed was done. He’d probably send her scampering back to her room once he had his way with her.
Even if he turned out to be not the cuddling type, Isla was going to have to make it clear she wasn’t the sort of girl who got shooed away so easily.
She’d thought she could at least walk on her own, but he didn’t seem overly interested in letting go of her.
He wasn’t holding her hand. His strong fingers were clasped tightly around the bones of her wrist. She seriously thought she might be losing some blood flow there, but there was no way in hell she was about to complain about it to him.
For one thing, he might not let her go anyway. For another, he might let her go. He might let go of her wrist, and then he wouldn’t be touching her anymore. She didn’t want that.
Her heartbeat raced in her chest, sending blood and heat rushing through her, especially when they stopped in front of a thick wooden door.
This couldn’t be nerves. She wasn’t entirely nervous. She’d already made peace with her decision. So what was this? Why was she so… breathless?
Arturo opened the door to his room, stepped inside, and then held it open for her. He seemed to be waiting for something.
She blinked, understanding dawning on her in that moment.
Oh, right. Idiot. She stepped into his bedroom, and the door closed softly behind her.
Isla took two more steps inside, looking around, and she blew out a long breath. “This is your room?”
“Yeah, I sleep here,” he said, as though it wasn’t a big deal at all.
Holy shit, the house she’d grown up in could fit in this place.
Well, probably not entirely, but she was willing to bet it wasn’t much of a stretch.
The ceiling was high, higher than it probably should have been. It probably took up a whole other floor of this massive house. The windows were just as high, floor to ceiling, with what looked like a glass door built into the larger, arched glass that led out to a lit patio. The area she was in now looked more like a private sitting room. There was a leather couch, a love seat, and a matching reading chair off to her right. The reading chair was next to the fireplace, which was burning brightly, while the couch and love seat were placed around a large, square, glass coffee table, which sat in front of a flat screen television.
The thing she found the most strange about that was how utterly normal it looked. No projector popping down from the ceiling, and the TV wasn’t so huge that it took up the entire wall, though it probably still cost a couple grand.
She walked over to the high-backed leather chair. Bookcases lined the walls. They were the sort that were made of dark, heavy wood, and not something put together from IKEA.
Jane would drool at the sight of bookcases like these. The woman was constantly complaining that she needed more wall space for her books. Well, these would definitely do the trick. Isla would need a step-ladder just to see what was on the top shelves.
Then she looked down at the fire, frowned, and realized what it was.
“Is this a real fire?”
“Of course, what else would it be?” Arturo asked, moving toward the other side of the sitting room, through an open doorway that had no door, where she just noticed a king-sized bed, neatly made with blue sheets, waited for her.
She and Arturo were totally going to do it on that bed. Holy shit. Even coming to this house hadn’t made this seem as real as looking at that bed.
He stripped out of his suit jacket, and when he turned, he was undoing the buttons of his shirt, slowly, casually, as though this was as normal as could be, as though they were already long-time lovers and had nothing to hide from each other.
Isla’s mouth went desert sun dry. Did that make any sense? She totally didn’t care, especially when that amazingly beautiful chest was revealed to her as Arturo tossed his white button down onto the floor like cheap Walmart clothes instead of something that had probably cost him hundreds, if not thousands of dollars.