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Her gaze traveled down my body, pausing at my shorts, and one brow lifted as I grinned at her. She most definitely could see the outline of my cock.
When she licked her bottom lip, I groaned and turned back around. "Don't look at me like that unless you plan on following through."
She was silent for a long drawn out moment before she asked, "What's the plan today?"
"Well, I’m going to finish making breakfast, and we'll eat. Then I thought we’d go look around the market."
"You're not worried about anyone shooting at me in the open?"
"No one knows we're here, and we're going to be disguised as a couple on vacation. We also have plenty of guards who will be watching us."
"Okay." She still looked nervous, but she changed the subject. “Who taught you to cook? I’m sort of hopeless in the kitchen. I can follow a recipe, but I can’t cook anything without one.”
"I can teach you."
Her brows lifted and she snorted. "Don't tell me the billionaire knows how to cook more than a basic breakfast, because I never saw you use that amazing kitchen in the penthouse."
I placed the French toast on the counter. And then I leaned over to tap my finger on the tip of her nose. "I have all kinds of skills. Just because I don't have time to use them doesn't mean I don't know how. My Mom taught me how to cook."
She blinked in surprise. "Oh."
"Whenever I was home from boarding school, she'd teach me something new. She said every human being needs to learn how to look after themselves." I shrugged. "It turns out I liked it." I took out the omelet pan and grabbed the eggs. "Come here, and I’ll give you your first lesson."
"Oh, really?"
"Yes. Come around."
She hopped down off the stool and came around the bar. It was only then that I realized she was only wearing a T-shirt. Sure, it went down to mid-thigh, so it might as well have been a dress, but it was short enough to make me wonder what was under it.
For the next fifteen minutes, I tried not to look at the expanse of her legs on display. I tried not to focus on how long and lean they were. I tried to pay attention to the task at hand. Teaching her how to make omelets. It seemed innocent enough, it did.
Except, with every brush of her ass against me, I thought I was going to die. All the blood rushed straight to my cock, far the fuck away from my head. All I wanted to do was bend her over the counter and slide home deep, fisting my hands in her hair and making her scream my name repeatedly.
But I did my best to focus and breathe. And as it turned out, she could make a half-decent omelet. Gwen squeaked with happiness when the folded egg, spinach, onions, and sausage concoction slid onto her plate. "Look, I made an omelet."
"Yes, you did. It's very good."
She beamed at me. The simplicity of teaching her how to make an omelet made her so happy, and it made my heart squeeze.
"Thank you. It's nice to feel accomplished at something."
"What are you talking about? You built an amazing interactive AI software. It’s extremely difficult and rare to find someone with that level of programming skill. Why would you think you’re not accomplished?"
"I don't know. I know I'm smart and can figure things out, but Dad always made it seem like I wasn't too bright. Or that I couldn't do anything right. Logically, I knew it wasn't true, but I kept trying to prove him wrong. Which of course led me to feel even more inferior. He wasn't always like that though. Before Mom died, he was actually nice. Well, I mean, as nice as you can imagine. She softened his edges, but I think her death broke him. He just shut everything down. It makes me feel sad for him in a way. He could have chosen to love us both. He could have chosen to look at us like his daughters, to take the time to get to know us, but he didn't. So now we're here."
I automatically leaned forward and took her hand, pressing a kiss on her temple. "I'm sorry."
She nodded gently. "Thanks."
It wasn't much, but she'd let me touch her. And her scent wrapped around me, making me think all kinds of other things. My cock brushed against her hip, which was unfortunate because... fucking hell, I was rock hard, and she knew it.
"So, are you smuggling a cucumber in those pants?" she laughed.
I coughed. "Gwen..."
"What?” she asked innocently. “It does feel like you're carrying around a cucumber."
"So, you think I'm as big as a cucumber, do you?"
