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“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He crosses his arms, but not before I catch the way he almost reaches for me again. God, I want him to so badly! What’s wrong with me? “I’ll give you some time alone, then. I’ll have dinner prepared at 6 pm, you should join me.”
He phrases it like an offer, but it comes off more like a command…one that I have no problem obeying. “Oh. Okay. Yes.”
The enormous room feels like it grows impossibly small as Malcolm gives in to his urges once more and sweeps his thumb over my cheekbone in farewell. It looks like he has to force himself to turn and go, leaving me with, “Good. I’ll see you then, Melody.”
Malcolm closes the door behind me, and I’m finally alone, just like I’ve wanted for hours now. Except…I wouldn’t have minded if he stayed. My entire body reacted both times he touched me, and I’m struggling to fill my lungs, my nipples hard and my core aching. Maybe it’s the adrenaline from everything that’s happened, or maybe, if I’m being honest with myself…
I want Malcolm Mayfield in all the ways that I shouldn’t. And I don’t think I’ll be able to resist if he feels the same.
So. Dinner with my boyfriend…ex-boyfriend’s…dad is not something I would have guessed I’d be doing tonight, but here we are. I’ve spent a wonderful handful of hours soaking in an enormous bathtub and trying to forget about everything that happened this morning, but now it’s time to face the music and complete the task I never should have agreed to—seeing Malcolm again so soon.
My fascination and desire regarding the older man haven’t eased, nixing the possibility that my attraction was only based on adrenaline. No, I couldn’t be so lucky.
I really want Malcolm, and I’m starting to really hate myself for it. It makes me feel so wrong inside, but that makes everything even more exciting. The taboo of it all is driving me insane. How am I supposed to just sit and have dinner with this man?
I descend the staircase, second-guessing every choice I’ve made in the last six hours. I hadn’t exactly packed any formal dinner wear since I had to pay to put most of my possessions in storage after being evicted, so I hope that my jeans and knit sweater will be good enough for Malcolm. Something tells me he isn’t going to care what I wear, though.
It’s so opulent in here that it sort of boggles my mind, but everything is also modern and sleek. Top of the line, but never ostentatious. There isn’t much personality in these public areas, though. I wonder if Malcolm keeps all the personal touches somewhere else in the house, somewhere that no one else can see.
I enter the dining room, and Malcolm stands tall by the table, exuding a commanding presence that leaves me slightly breathless. The room is huge, but Malcolm makes it feel oh so small. His tailored slacks hug his thick thighs, and he’s still wearing the same button-down from earlier. When he moves his arms, I catch a glimpse of the tattoos that peek out from his sleeves. He looks like he stepped out of a magazine, and he only has eyes for me.
"Melody, come in," he says, his deep voice sending shivers down my spine.
The long dining table has over a dozen seats, but most of them have been pushed further down the table, with only two seats close together and near the food. One is the chair at the head of the table where Malcolm is standing, and the other is on the right side of that chair directly next to him.
It’s obvious where I’m supposed to sit, but we’re going to be so close together. I take a seat, my heart pounding, and try to focus on the exquisite meal set before us while the man that is making my body go on high alert lowers himself into the seat next to me. The table is adorned with elegant silverware and crystal glasses, each plate carefully prepared by Malcolm's household staff. The tantalizing aroma of the dishes fills the air, but my senses are completely consumed by the enigmatic billionaire.
"Wow, this looks incredible," I say, trying to sound composed as I glance at the array of food choices. There’s nothing too heavy, but everything looks so fresh considering it’s the middle of winter.
Malcolm smiles, and the corners of his eyes crinkle slightly. "I'm glad you think so. I wasn’t sure what you liked so I just had the staff prepare their best dishes.”
I nod, but it's hard to concentrate on anything but him. The way he looks at me is like nothing I've ever experienced before, and it's stirring emotions I can't quite put into words. What was I thinking accepting this invite? Whatever is going on between us is too volatile to be in close quarters, and I’m way too inexperienced to know how to navigate it all.
Throughout the dinner, we engage in polite conversation, but it's clear that neither of us can fully concentrate on the words exchanged. The air between us crackles with an intense, unspoken desire. Malcolm's piercing gaze never leaves mine, and I find myself getting lost in the depths of his dark eyes. It's as if a magnetic force pulls us closer, blurring the lines of right and wrong.
As the meal progresses, I find myself growing more captivated by Malcolm's presence. He's an enigma—a man who has it all, and yet I sense there's a loneliness behind those deep hazel eyes. How I know that, I have no idea.
As we finish the main course, I try to gather my composure, but his nearness is intoxicating, making it almost impossible to focus.
"Is everything okay?" he asks, his voice low and velvety. “What happened with my son earlier…I understand if you’re still shaken up.”
I shake my head, trying to hide the turmoil inside me. "Yeah, everything's great. The food is amazing. I…um…haven’t thought much about Adam honestly…”
The truth that I was ready to break up with Adam before the eviction almost slips out of me. Malcolm makes me feel so comfortable, like I can trust him, which makes no sense. I don’t think he’ll be thrilled to know I was basically using his son for housing, no matter how pissed off he is at Adam right now.
I nibble my lip, and Malcolm leans forward, searching my face like he’s able to just pull the truth out of me. I swallow and keep my mouth shut, but I can’t shake the feeling that he somehow knows.
Malcolm looks like he wants to say more but, instead, just says, "Good. I'm glad you're enjoying yourself."
Entire conversations are happening between the two of us without words, and my earlier intrigue has seemingly morphed into something more.
As the dessert course arrives, I’m both anxious and sad that the meal is about over. I’ve barely tasted the food, only picking at it, because there’s another sort of hunger driving me crazy. If I’m reading Malcolm correctly, it’s a hunger we both feel—for each other.
I try to focus on my plate, but Malcolm's nearness is intoxicating, making it almost impossible to keep my composure, especially with the pulse pounding between my thighs.
He eats his dessert in a way that hypnotizes me, licking the spoon and savoring the flavors in a way that is downright sinful. I don’t even look down at my own confection, too focused on him and his gorgeous masculine lips.
It’s only when he dips the spoon down for another bite that I realize he’s watching me watch him, and I feel my cheeks get instantaneously hot. Malcolm chuckles, his eyelids lowered. Oh…he’s doing this on purpose, and I’ve just shown him without a doubt how much he’s getting to me.
