Paradise Found: Cain (Paradise #2)(18)

“Here.” He thrust a red Gerber daisy at me. The bright red color with a dark center matched my outfit. He wiped his hand nervously down his pants, after I took it from him, and I brought the flower to my nose. My smile could not be helped. He seemed nervous, too. He was charming when he wanted to be.

“Shall we?” he offered, pointing for me to lead us toward the street. His hand pressed against my lower back, and I flinched in surprise, side glancing over my shoulder. He instantly removed his touch and I felt the loss. It wasn’t that I didn’t want his hands on me. In graphic detail, images of his fingers up my skirt, buried inside of me days ago in a hall haunted me. I’d craved his hands on me for the rest of the week. What I didn’t desire was the sting I was certain to feel after I accepted his affection.

We were quiet as he drove. He seemed quite confident in his directions through town and then slightly outside of it. In an older district with quaint homes, he pulled into a driveway. When I looked at him, he was already exiting the door.

“Stay,” he growled as I reached for my handle. He quickly crossed in front of the SUV and opened my door for me. He offered his hand to help me, but I slid out on my own.

“Where are we?” I asked, eyeing the elaborate white stucco home with a terra cotta roof, like many others in this part of California. It looked like a villa, only on a smaller scale, and I instantly thought of my grandparents’ inn and a vineyard I’d visited in Italy.

“Come inside” was his reply, ignoring my question. His hand found my lower back, but this time he didn’t remove it and I didn’t flinch away.

We entered the home to the mouth-watering smell of pasta, and I was reminded of my grandmother’s cooking. Leading me straight back to the kitchen, I was met by a large man dressed in black. Arms as big as Cain’s, his head was bald and shining under the kitchen lights, but his smile was instant and friendly.

“Ms. Vincentia, it’s a pleasure to see you again.”

I remembered him. He was Cain’s bodyguard. He followed Cain’s father, when he barged into Cain’s guest room at the inn. He was also the man who tried to hand me my panties and bra after the interruption. When Cain’s father demanded I leave after insulting me. My face heated at the memory of this large man holding out my intimate apparel for me. Embarrassment was hardly the noun to describe the moment. Mortified was a better word.

“Sofie?” Cain questioned. I shook my head. I was not about to relive those memories with him.

“Kursch.” The large man stuck out his thick hand. “Since Cain here is too rude to introduce us again properly. You look very nice tonight.” I blushed again. We’d actually met on another occasion. He was present as a witness to our marital vows, and then he disappeared that night, with one of the divorcees.

“I see you took my advice, sort of,” Kursch added, eyeing the single flower pinched between my fingers. He shook his head in teasing disappointment.

“Shut up, old man,” Cain groaned under his breath, but with a smile. Kursch’s eyebrow rose as if to say he’d proved his point.

“On that note, I think I’ll leave you two alone. Have a good evening.” Kursch looked at Cain pointedly. “It was a pleasure, Ms. Vincentia.”

I nodded my reply as the scary man in black left the kitchen, followed by the soft click of a back door closing.

“He was wrong,” Cain said, filling the awkward silence at the bodyguard’s exit. “You look beautiful.” He appeared to surprise himself after the words were spoken, and I assumed he didn’t believe them. I shouldn’t have cared, but I was slightly insulted by his tone. I looked down at myself. My t-shirt was plain. The skirt too feminine. I’d seen the images of the type of women he preferred. Women who revealed more by wearing less modest clothing. Cursing, I reminded myself I wasn’t here to impress him.

“What smells so good?” I asked, ignoring Cain’s comment and crossing to the stove. The kitchen was moderate sophistication. With industrial steel appliances, granite countertops, and a country sink, it was your typical domestic set-up, and yet it was comfortable. The scent and the decor reminded me of my grandparents’ personal kitchen, not the restaurant’s large scale one. A short island counter stood with two high stools and a dark wood table filled the in-kitchen eating area.

“Kursch made his famous pasta. It’s some family recipe. I don’t know what’s in it, but it’s delicious, I promise. Wine?” he asked, as he brushed past me for two glasses in an etched glass display cabinet. He poured us each some wine then handed a glass to me.

“Shouldn’t I just be signing the papers?” I questioned in confusion.

“What should we toast?” he asked, ignoring me. My stunned response was immediate.

“To divorce?” I laughed, trying to lighten the situation, but Cain didn’t seem to think it was humorous. He clinked my glass softly then drank the red sweetness down.

“Let’s eat,” he finally said, and the awkwardness returned.

“Eat?” I questioned again, like an incompetent buffoon. I stared as he served us each a large bowl, then carried them into another room. The dining room held a table that sat eight. It was inviting and antique looking. I stared at the contrast between this rough fighter and the furniture that surrounded him.

“Whose house is this again?” I asked quizzically, hinting that he hadn’t answered me before. My eyes roamed the quaint space. It was then that I noticed the blue envelope on the sideboard and reached instantly for it. As if I received an electric shock, my hand retreated, while I read our names on the cover.