Page 10 of Keeping The Virgin

When I look at Cage again, he’s not eating. I think he’s getting his fill from watching how I drink, how I enjoy.

“You’ve got good taste,” I say, putting down the glass.

“Yes, I do. In everything.”

Does he mean me?

I blush yet again while I start eating, and damn, but he can cook. Is there anything he isn’t good at?

The mere question sends a ripple of desire over my skin. He was sure good at what he did to me earlier.

As I realize that I’m wolfing down my food, I slow my pace, offering him a whoops kind of grin. At first he wrinkles his brow, but then a smile ghosts over his lips. I don’t think he’s used to girls like me—ones who actually eat real food instead of brown rice and vegetables. Ones who don’t think chewing gum will put them over their calorie count for the day.

I drink more wine. It’s starting to give me a happy buzz, probably because I’m not a big drinker in the first place. “Where did you learn to cook like this?”

This one simple question must be the wrong one, because something shutters closed in his eyes. His voice is cool. “Cooking was a skill that was necessary for me to learn.”

Okay. The man of mystery strikes again. I have to say though that every time he goes dark and glacial like this, I like it. There’s got to be something wrong with me, but there it is—I’m drawn to his inaccessibility.

Then again, what is there about him that I’m not drawn to?

As the sound of seagulls travel through the air in the near distance, I sneak another peek at Cage. His gaze is fixed on the ocean, as if there’s something faraway that’s consumed him. It’s because of my question, isn’t it? God, I’m not going to ask anything else. Not if it makes him unhappy. Even as inexperienced as I am, I know my job is to do the opposite.

I study his strong profile and shift restlessly in my chair.

Speaking of jobs… When will he fuck me?

How?

Where?

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a message flash onto the screen of my silenced phone in the seat next to me, and I glance down at it. When I read the text, my entire body freezes.

Liam:

Got the package as expected.

I feel the color drain from my face, and the food and wine I’ve been eating and drinking go sour in my stomach. I want to throw up, but instead, I only put down my fork and lift my napkin to my lips.

Even though my gaze is fixed on my plate, I sense that Cage has picked up on my reaction.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Nothing. I’m fine.”

Look at him, Karini. Play this off like it’s nothing.

I do my best to put on a brave face and act like everything is okay, but my pulse is racing and I can’t breathe very well.

Shit.

I’ve got to get through this meal, because I don’t want Cage to change his mind about taking me to New York. He doesn’t need a basket case—he wants the girl he already got a small taste of. A virgin who melts at his touch and who’ll turn him on.

I pick up my fork and make myself eat, but nothing has a taste anymore—not after that text.

When I lift my gaze, Cage is still watching me as if he knows something is wrong, but even though I’m battling a panic attack I smile again. All the same, my sudden paranoia doesn’t disappear.

And neither does that text.

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