Addicted to Mr Parks (The Parks Series #2)(25)

A while later he called me into the kitchen. “Dinner is served.” He smiled and pulled out the chair at the head of the table for me to get seated, then set down a plate in front of me. “Grilled salmon fillet, steamed broccoli, and—”

“No chips?” I interrupted playfully.

He chuckled sexily. “No chips.”

“What’s the dressing?” I asked, spotting the white cream beside the salmon. Parks took the seat to my right.

“Herb yogurt sauce.”

Taking my knife and fork into my hands, I giggled like a child. “Say yogurt, again.”

He glanced up from his plate and shrugged. “Yogurt. Why is that funny?”

“You say it differently.”

“Maybe it has something to do with you being British and myself American?” he goaded playfully.

I shrugged. “Maybe.”

Parks waited for me to start eating before digging into his own. His chivalry rules and obedience standards were set so high, I didn’t think there was a possibility of him giving them up anytime soon.

I cut into the succulent salmon, dipped it into the yogurt sauce, and took it to my lips. He watched my every action, then watched my mouth chewing slowly.

“It’s good,” I mouthed.

“Yeah, it’s good.” He grinned, meaning my actions. The way I chewed slowly on purpose. The way I dipped my finger into the cream and licked it off the tip.

He took his watermelon juice to his lips and drank it down slowly. And oh my, was it sexy as I watched his throat dip when he swallowed. Then he was playing my game. He dipped his finger into the tub, reached over, and traced my lips with the cream, then leant over and slowly erased the yogurt from my mouth with his tongue. “Tastes even better coming from you. Now eat.”

“I would if you stopped using food all sexy,” I sassed, to his pleasure.

After I’d devoured the whole plate, I showered him with approval. “You’re like my very own Gordon Ramsay.”

“You like Gordon Ramsay?” He was frowning, and it was extremely amusing.

“There’s just something about him,” I admitted. “I’d love to go to his restaurant.”

“To see him?” He shifted in his seat.

I smirked. “What’s the odds of seeing him there?”


“Very little.”

We finished up dinner, and Parks led me into his living room, where we relaxed getting to know each other. He pressed Play on his music system, and Christina Perri began to sing. It was “Arms,” the very song I told him to listen to when he held me for the first time at my flat.

“Don’t look so shocked, of course I listened to it,” he answered my look of surprise and settled down next to me.

“That’s…” I was speechless. It was heart-warming, and I couldn’t even finish off my sentence.

“You’re not that good with words, are you?” He smiled.

I crossed my legs on the sofa and faced him. “Neither are you. I know nothing about you.” It was ironic, really. Words were what I needed, yet they were the things both of us couldn’t really produce.

“Well,” he continued, stroking my calf with his index finger, “you know my name is Wade, you know I’m an Aries, and you know I’m unbelievable in bed. You don’t need to know any more than that.”

My head bowed down as I laughed, making my hair fall around me. “You’re an arrogant arse, I know that.” I prodded him in his shoulder. “Tell me about you. What’s your favourite film?”

He watched his fingers as he traced my leg with them. “I don’t have a favourite. I don’t have time to watch TV. What’s your favourite film?”

I didn’t have to think about that. “Titanic.” I also loved musicals because I can remember watching them with my nan. “And Grease, West Side Story.”

“Titanic is your favourite? It’s a bit morbid.” He was laughing, so I swatted him with my hand.

“Because it’s beautiful and heartbreaking all at the same time. And when I was younger, I wished I had a necklace like the one Rose had. The Heart of the Ocean.” My smile seemed ridiculous, so I hid it by looking into my lap. “Anyway.” I sighed. “What did you watch as a kid?”

Parks pulled me into him so I laid across the sofa, my head resting in his lap. The warmth that radiated off him was exactly what I needed. “Jasmine and I were prohibited from watching TV. We had to spend our spare time practicing piano, learning languages. Math and reading.”

He began stroking my hair when I answered sarcastically, “Oh so that’s why I’m not a billionaire? I spent too much time watching TV.” I chuckled, but he didn’t laugh along. He seemed utterly in deep thought, so I got a little serious. “I remember you said your parents were strict. Is that why you weren’t allowed to do those things?”

His expression remained impassive. “Right. We had books instead.” Clearly not wanting to linger on that subject, he changed it back to me. “What about books, Evelyn?”

Then I looked a little embarrassed. “I never had books. Never once did my mother read me a bedtime story. She never tucked me in or kissed me good night. I never had a bedtime; I just took myself when I was tired. That was unless I wasn’t already in my bed. My bedroom was something I was always confined to.” I glanced away from his eyes as I revealed the next part. “My bed was soiled, dirty sheets, no teddies, no toys. Just my thumb for comfort.”