Page 47 of If You Give a Billionaire a Bride

“Ourhome,” he reiterates. “And you can order takeout if you prefer,” he taunts as he subtly slides my plate toward him with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Not a chance, Stafford.” I intercept his attempt, firmly grabbing his hand so he’s forced to release his grip, triumphantly reclaiming my plate. “I’m not passing up a home-cooked meal, even if the company is barely tolerable.” I bite back a grin as I spear a piece of salmon with my fork. The moment it touches my tongue, I can’t help but moan in satisfaction at the explosion of flavors. “Oh my god, this is so good,” I praise before taking another big bite.

“I’m glad you like it.” Cash’s intense gaze doesn’t leave me, and my breath hitches when he reaches over to wipe the side of my mouth with the pad of his thumb. His finger lingers over my lips, and I’m tempted to draw it into my mouth and suck on it. I imagine twirling my tongue around the tip, pretending it’s something else… something bigger.

I’m in so much trouble.

My mouth turns dry at the realization I just fantasized about sucking my husband’s dick. I draw back, wanting to create distance between us, and grab my glass of water, taking a big gulp.

“Sorry, you just had a little sauce on your mouth.” Cash rips his gaze from mine and wipes his thumb off on his napkin.

“It’s alright, I appreciate it. I had no idea you could cook,” I admit, desperate to change the subject. “Remember when you tried cooking macaroni and cheese in ninth grade? Your mom made you scrape out all the burned bits from the bottom of the pan because you left it alone for too long and all the water boiled out.” I smile at the memory.

“It’s not like you were any better,” he quips before taking a bite of his food.

“You’re right. Theo has all the cooking talents. I avoid the kitchen at all costs.”

My only exception is when I visit Theo at one of his restaurants. He’s never turned down the chance to cook for me. He hasn’t been in London as much lately, too busy with his cooking shows and other ventures I’ve begun to lose track of.

“Well, you’re in luck because one perk of living with me is having a home-cooked meal waiting for you every night,” Cash says.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that. I usually stay late at the office,” I warn him.

It’s not by choice. My father continuously piles onto my workload, making it nearly impossible to manage it all, even with long hours. He exploits the fact that I won’t say no to him, even when he’s not on the same continent as me. The direct deposit that hits my account every two weeks makes it manageable, knowing that I have a reliable way to support myself and cover my mom’s bills.

“That’s no problem,” Cash says. “Just text me when you’re wrapping up work each night, and I’ll have dinner ready when you get home.”

I’m about to remind him that this isn’t my home again, but I hold my tongue. He’s doing something nice for me, so the least I can do is attempt to meet him halfway.

“Okay, I will.”

“Carol prefers to leave the office by five, so I wrap up by then because she won’t leave until I do. I’m usually home by five thirty.”

I tense up, my fork clattering to my plate. “Who’s Carol?”

“My assistant,” Cash replies, upbeat. “She’s great. You should stop by and have lunch with us sometime.”

He has lunch with his assistant? The only other person I know who did that was Landon. I’m haunted by the memories of his assistant glaring at me from her spot outside his office as she clicked away on her keyboard. Now it makes sense why she was so bitter whenever I’d stop by to bring Landon lunch.

“And before you ask if I’ve done anything with Carol, the answer is no,” Cash states with a softness in his eyes. “She’s in her late sixties, and even if I had a thing for older women, I’m not her type. On multiple occasions, she’s told me she’s into ruggedly handsome lumberjacks, like the ones she reads about in her romance novels.”

I laugh. That’s the last thing I expected him to say.

“You might not be a lumberjack, but you have the ruggedly handsome thing going for you.” The moment I realize the thought has slipped out, I glance up at Cash with a startled look, like a deer caught in headlights.

“At least half my face is,” he says somberly.

That’s when I realize he’s sitting to my left, so I can only see the right side of his face as we eat. Something tells me that was intentional.

“Cash Stafford, have you not been paying attention? Your scar adds to your charm and makes you even more irresistible.Damn, anyone who thinks differently—they’re wrong.” I place my hand over his.

“Theo was right,” he says, shell-shocked. “He said you liked my scar, but I didn’t believe him.”

“Wait. When did you talk to Theo?”

“He stormed into my office today, demanding to know why I married you. Apparently, Harrison and Dylan thought it would be funny to send him the wedding article from theAspen Grove Gazette.”

I gasp. “Oh my god. Did he hurt you?” I scan his body, checking for any injuries I might have missed.

---