A Not So Meet Cute(41)

“You’re welcome to anything in the kitchen. My chef prepares premade meals and puts them in the fridge. If you’ve any requests, just let me know, and I’ll make sure they’re prepared.”

“I can get my own food.”

“Do I need to remind you, you’re my fiancée?”

I turn toward him and catch him with his hands in his pockets, looking somewhat vulnerable as I take in his house. I lean in and whisper, “Fake fiancée.”

Ignoring my comment, he says, “Nothing is off limits in the house. What’s mine is yours.”

“Oh, so no threat to stay out of the west wing?”

His brow knits in confusion.

“You know, like from Beauty and the Beast.”

“Are you comparing me to the Beast?”

“Not quite. He seemed to have more manners when dealing with his captive.”

“I don’t find that amusing.”

“Shocking,” I say and walk over to the fridge. I pull open one of the enormous Sub-Zero doors. Just like he said, there are meals fully prepared and stuck in the fridge with dates marked on the top. Man, the kind of things money can get someone. “Like Brussel sprouts, do you?” I ask, seeing a lot of them in the containers.

“They’re good for you.”

“So I’ve heard.” I shut the fridge and then ask, “Where’s my room?” And then it hits me. “Uh, wait . . . are we going to have to share a room?” I hold up my hand. “Because that’s where I put my foot down. There’s no way I’m sharing a bed with you. I need my own space.”

“This way,” he says, walking toward the staircase just off the grand living room.

“That wasn’t an answer. Are we sleeping in the same bed? I’m going to tell you right now, you won’t want to. I like to sleep naked.”

“Not a hardship for me,” he mutters as he walks up the stairs.

“Was that a compliment?” I ask, trailing behind him. “Are you saying I have a nice body? Wait . . . it doesn’t matter if you did. Don’t be a pervert.”

“I’m not being a pervert. You’re the one who brought up the naked thing.”

“I’m trying to tell you why I’m not a good partner in bed.” I pause and then say, “Wait, I didn’t mean that. I’m a really good partner in bed. I know how to make a man sing to the high heavens with these hands. Miracle workers, they’ve been called before. I’m a good partner in the sexual aspect, the real deal. Amazing at giving head, in case you were wondering.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Well, I am. And I’m very comfortable with my sexuality. Very adventurous. But when it comes to actually sleeping—not sex, but sleeping—that’s when things go haywire. I’m erratic. I’ll sleep sideways in bed. I have no problem kicking someone to get them out of the way and I don’t cuddle. So, you know . . . sharing a bed and a room with you isn’t a great idea.”

When we reach the top of the stairs, he turns right and heads down a long hallway.

“Did you hear me?”

“I heard you.”

I catch up to him. “Then how come you’re not answering me?”

“Because your incessant chatter is annoying me.”

“Wow, you really are such an asshole,” I say as he opens a door on the left.

I step into the room and I’m immediately transfixed by the modern, light-stained four-poster bed, which claims the attention of the room with its soft white linens and fluffy pillows. At the foot of the bed is a bench with pillows, and across from the bed is a fireplace with two mid-century modern black chairs angled toward the flames. Off to the right is an en suite bathroom, which I’m sure is decked out in marble like the kitchen. But what’s really catching my eye is the dresser under the large window that overlooks the front yard. Because on top of it are my three dildos. One pink, one purple, and the suction cup dick I recently purchased.

Dear Christ, what are those doing out? And who the hell touched them?

I glance over at Huxley, and to my lack of fortune, he’s staring at my pleasure collection as well.

“Did your staff unpack my things?”

“They did,” he says.

“Seems as though they came across my lady toys.”

“Is that what you call them?” he asks.

“I could say dildos if that makes you feel more comfortable. Although, it probably doesn’t bode well for you that I have those, huh?” I nudge him with my elbow. “You know, since you’re supposed to be keeping me satisfied.”

“It’s nothing new to them. They know I have toys.”

Errr . . . what?

Did I hear that correctly? Huxley Cane has toys? Talk about a plot twist.

“Uh, what? Where?” I look around the room. “Do you hide them in your nightstands?” I walk over to one and open it, finding absolutely nothing.

“This isn’t my room.”

I stand tall. “Wait, so we’re not sharing a room?”

“No. My room is directly across the hall.”

“I see.” I fold my arms. “And what will your staff think about that?”

“They’ve been informed that we’re attempting to remain celibate before our wedding.”