Page 37 of The Billionaire's Fortunate Accident
That alone was something deserving of respect, something no one could ever take away from her. She’d worked her ass off for what she wanted. And the amazing thing about that was that she wanted to help other people. She wanted to make people feel better. And for that, she was willing to give up her social life to work a shitty job.
I placed the salads in the fridge, leaned back against the stainless-steel doors, and closed my eyes. It occurred to me that I was afraid of not being able to live up to what she deserved. She deserved a real man. She deserved to have someone to come home to, someone who could take all the hardships of her busy and probably emotionally straining days away with one kiss, one hug, and a whole lotta love.
I shivered as fear ran like ice through my veins. My parents had died when I was only eight years old. Not having them around as role models for how marriages go was an issue. I wasn’t sure how to treat a woman who I respected but wanted to have sex with.
I can’t screw this up.
Chapter Twenty
Jessa
The driver pulled through the open gates, slowly proceeding up the long driveway. Stone’s mansion stood three stories high, yet it looked right at home, nestled into the surrounding hills. Spotlights pointed out various foliage adorning the nooks and crannies of the front side of the house. Double wooden doors pulled open, and Stone stood there, barefoot in blue jeans and a white button-down shirt left untucked. He looked relaxed and happy to see me.
My body warmed as I watched him coming out to greet me. He opened the door for me, and only then did I see the large black bag in his hand. “Hi.”
His eyes sparkled. “Hi.” He placed the bag in the backseat I’d just vacated. “Here you go. You’ve got the address and the number to text once you’re there. Someone will come out and pick it up. Thanks.”
“Sure thing, Mr. Nash.”
Stone ran his arm around my waist, pulling me close. “It’s good to see you.”
“You too.” I gazed at the home that didn’t seem nearly as stoic as the turn of the century mansion I called home. “Nice place you’ve got here.”
“I call it home. Don’t let the size of this place get to you. It’s big and full of nice things, but this is my home, not some museum. I want you to make yourself at home and get nice and comfy.”
Walking into the foyer, I looked up and saw that it went all the way to the very top of the third floor. “Nice feature.”
“Thanks.” He closed the doors behind us, then tapped on a keypad on the wall. “Gotta close the gates behind the Uber. Otherwise, the neighbor’s dogs will come and crap in my yard.”
“Sweet.” I laughed.
His hand slipped into mine as he led me through a large living area with a gorgeous, lit-up fireplace, the flames dancing invitingly. “This is the living room. I rarely spend time here. It’s just too big for me, alone, to feel comfortable in. I wanted you to see the fireplace lit, though. It’s one of my favorite things about this house.”
“It’s beautiful. I can imagine sleeping in front of it on that cowskin rug you’ve got there.” Romance seemed to be filling the air, and for once, I wasn’t trying to find a way out of it.
His deep chuckle stirred me in ways that I found quite pleasurable. “Maybe later, hun.”
Moving on, he took me through a short hallway, and then we were in the kitchen. “This is where I feel most at home.” He put his hands on my waist, lifting me to sit on a tall barstool. “Take that laptop out of the bag you’ve got hanging on your shoulder. You can get to that classwork of yours while I get to cooking our steaks.”
“Steaks?” I liked the sound of that. “And what else do you have going on for tonight’s dinner?” I pulled the laptop out of my bag, placing it on the bar but not opening it.
“You said to keep it simple, so I did.” He pulled out a couple of aluminum foil-wrapped objects from the oven. “Baked potatoes and salad. There’s red wine chilling too.” He filled one of the two wine glasses that sat next to an ice bucket with two uncorked bottles inside. “Here you go. This will help you settle in.”
As I sipped on mine, he filled one for himself too. “This is divine, Stone.”
Putting an iron skillet on the stovetop, he pulled a cutting board towards him, on which were laying the two steaks. “Filet mignon. Sounds okay to you, baby?”
“Sounds perfect.” I had to hand it to the man. He sure knew how to treat a lady. “You’re spoiling me.”
“I don’t think a woman as wonderful as you can be spoiled.” He poured a bit of oil into the skillet.
“What kind of oil is that?” I ignored my computer, as Stone captivated me by how he moved with such grace as he cooked.
“Grapeseed oil. I use it when I’m cooking steaks or chicken. It’s got a higher burning point than olive oil, so it can really sear steak and chicken well. Searing the meat keeps the juices locked inside as they should be.”
The seasonings were sitting on the butcher’s block countertop. “I see you’ve prepared for this.”
“Of course.” He used his fingers to pick up some salt, and then held his hand up high to sprinkle it over the two cuts of meat.
