Resisting Mr. Kane (London Mister #2)(63)

An enclave in the kitchen leads to a bar area. “You must do a lot of entertaining here,” I say. Like every single woman in the online pictures

“Sometimes,” he replies nonchalantly. He hands me a glass of red. “This will go perfectly with dinner. Are you hungry? Natalia has made a beef bourguignon.”

“Starving.”

He takes two dishes out of a warming oven that could fit an entire cow, and I follow him into the dining area.

“Natalia can cook!” I say. I can tell just by the smell wafting through the dining room. I take a seat at the impeccably set table.

“I told her I was trying to impress a very special woman tonight,” he replies, setting down the food. “It’s gluten-free, dairy-free, and free of something else I can’t remember. I did some research, and it said that would be better for Crohn’s disease.”

My face heats. I can’t believe I disclosed my condition to him after a few glasses of wine. It’s not exactly the sexiest revelation, is it?

“That is the sexiest sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me,” I say, and it might be true. My eyes linger on his face. Is he always this considerate? “It’s a big house to live in all alone. Do you ever get lonely?”

“Daniel stays over at least once or twice a week.”

I nod. “It must be tough not seeing him all the time. Would you like more kids?” I add tentatively.

“Maybe.” His lips press in a tight line. “I never meant for this house to just be for me.”

Perhaps a conversation for another day. “How was your afternoon with Daniel?”

The grin reaches his eyes as it always does when he is talking about Daniel. “Fantastic. But exhausting. I have you to blame for tiring me out.”

You’ll be just as tired tomorrow morning. “Is it easy co-parenting?”

His grin gave way to a pained expression. “Not for me. Gemina holds all the cards.”

I wait for him to elaborate.

“I’m not Daniel’s paternal father.”

My eyes widen. I think about my hurtful comment at the drinks when I asked if his son looked like him. “I’m sorry…” I trail off, not knowing what to say. “Is that why you divorced?” I ask tentatively.

“Not completely.” He exhales roughly. “I found out about two years ago. She told me it was a mistake so I tried to make it work for well over a year. We went to counselling. We continued living as a family. In the end we couldn’t make it work.”

Fear trickles through me as I hear the thick emotion he tries to mask. I’m only chipping the surface of this. I’m not sure if I want to know the truth.

Baby steps.

I change the subject. “This is delicious. I can’t imagine eating meals of this quality every day. Eating in my house is stressful. It’s a queue for the kitchen, then when you do gain entry, half your ingredients are gone.”

His eyes crinkle. “I’m glad you approve, Elly.”

“How am I ever going to cook you a meal?” I muse. “If this is the norm for you. When was the last time you were in a supermarket?”

He starts laughing then looks serious. “Shit.” His brow furrows. “I can’t remember.” He has the grace to look a little embarrassed. “I have to be economical with my time. I spend at least twelve hours a day working, sometimes more.”

“Why are you interested in me, Tristan?” I study him. “What do I bring to the table?” I’m not talking about beef.

He frowns. “Is this a serious question? You’re intelligent, funny, and driven. You have a really mature head on you. In fact, Danny and Jack would say you are more mature than me.” He chuckles.

Then something in the way he looks at me changes.

“You take my breath away, Elly. I’m so insanely attracted to you, Elly,” his voice thickens with lust. “You know, I think about you every night.”

I close my eyes briefly. The pain in his eyes from earlier is still haunting me.

“I think about you every night, too,” I whisper. “When Frank the Shagger is at it, I close my eyes and think of you.”

He laughs. “I’m not sure that’s a compliment. I might have to buy you earmuffs.” He nods to my empty plate. “I’m glad you enjoyed it, sweetheart. Natalia will be happy. Is your Crohn’s okay?”

I frown. What a way to dampen the mood. Moving from his bad ex-wife to my bad bowel isn’t how I planned the conversation to go. I need to move us to the next course. I push my chair back and slowly walk to his side of the table.

He leans back in his chair.

Keeping my gaze fixed on him, I peel my lacy thong down my legs, then step each leg out of it.

He leans back further in his chair, watching the show.

I lift my sweater over my head so that I'm standing only in my leather skirt and red lacy bra.

His thighs spread as a ridge forms in his jeans.

Without speaking, I step between his legs, unbutton his jean button clumsily, and then pull down his zipper. When I push down his boxers, his erection juts upwards, thick and ready.

“You want it?” he asks hoarsely. “Take it.”

My knees drop to the floor between his thighs. I wrap my hands around the base of his shaft and push his cock deep into my mouth.