Page 44 of Runaway Bride for the Boss

She picks up her wine glass with a shaky hand, and my gaze drops to the bold color of her nails. My lips lift up in satisfaction. She used them. I was expecting to meet some resistance before she accepted the gift, but I’m pleased to see that she indulged herself instead of overthinking a simple gesture. Although, Ispent the better part of an hour picking each color, imagining how the tones would look on her delicate hands…and how those perfectly manicured hands would look as they run over my chest and her nails dig into the flesh of my back.

“Is something wrong? You haven’t said much,” I announce. Mrs. Staten comes in just then and clears our plates. Andrea glances between me and Autumn, and her eyes sparkle with mischief.

She picks up her phone and exclaims, “Would you look at the time? I have to be at the bar. It’s bad enough that I’ve left Keith on his own for this long. Good night, kids.” She winks at me.

I stare at her back as she leaves. What is she up to now?

“I have to go too, I—” Autumn stands up, but I stop her with a hand around her wrist.

“Did you only get one night off from the bar? It should be two.”

She hesitates and states, “I got two nights off. But it’s getting late so I want to turn in.”

I check the time on my watch. “It’s 7:30. Have dessert with me.”

“Dessert?”

Mrs. Staten walks back in with a tray laden with different deserts and carefully places it on the table. “That will be all, Mrs. Staten. You may go home now,” I tell her without taking my eyes off Autumn.

She glances around the table with interest. “What’s all this?” she asks when Mrs. Staten is gone.

“Dessert. You wouldn’t want all this to go to waste, would you? Take your seat, Autumn.”

She slowly sinks back into her chair, and my chest expands with satisfaction…and something else. Something I’m not too eager to explore yet. I just want to enjoy taking advantage of having her in my house one last time.

Fuck, why did I have to repair Andrea’s place so soon? I could’ve had her here for a little longer. Maybe there will be another storm tonight, and something horrible will happen to her apartment, something much more difficult to repair. Noah could certainly have that arranged.

Autumn glances at the dessert hesitantly. “You shouldn’t have. This is too much, I can’t possibly finish it all.”

“Nonsense.” I push a plate of cake like strawberry cobbler to her. “They’re small. My ten-year-old niece could polish them all off.”

“You don’t have a ten year old niece.” She rolls her eyes as she draws the plate the rest of the way to her.

I finally received the background report I had requested from Noah a few days ago. It is a measly five pages detailing every single thing about her. The first thing I checked were the things she enjoys. Noah is detailed like that. I don’t know how he does it, but the man could find out where you were on a random Tuesday six years ago if I asked for it. I had Mrs. Staten make three of the desserts on the list.

Strawberry cobbler cake – which sounds gross, but it doesn’t actually look too bad – Praline bread pudding topped with vanilla ice cream and dark chocolate mousse with a maraschino cherry on top.

“These are all my favorites,” she murmurs, glancing at the dishes. “How did Mrs. Staten…how could you possibly know?”

“I have my ways,” I say mysteriously. I doubt she’d appreciate knowing that I dug into her past. “Well, go on, try them,” I add when she hesitates. “If you’re worried they won’t taste as good as they look, don’t. I’ve yet to see a dish Mrs. Staten can’t perfect. She was actually a chef in a well-known restaurant Downtown before I snatched her up a few years ago.”

She dips a spoon into the cobbler first and hums when the spoon enters her mouth. “This is so good! It tastes even betterthan if I had made it myself,” she exclaims. I lean forward with my elbows on the table, my fists propped beneath my chin as I watch her take another bite.

Her eyes close as another heavenly moan rumbles from deep in her throat. This is my new favorite hobby. I may be a man of routine and structure, never one to over-indulge, but I could fucking overdose on her. I could spend eternity watching that look of pure satisfaction and pleasure cross her face, and it wouldn’t be enough. And to think I had brought it to her. I am the one who makes her moan with joy, and I’d quite literally kill to do it again. And again. Autumn’s fulfillment and happiness is my new fulltime job.

She glances at me, then offers me the spoon loaded with cobbler. I smirk and lean even further toward her as I part my lips. She hesitates then feeds the spoon into my mouth.

“Delicious,” I murmur lazily. She clears her throat and quickly spoons up more of the dessert into her mouth. It doesn’t escape my attention that we are sharing a spoon. What I just had my tongue around is now a vessel for her enjoyment. I watch her lick a crumb off the back, her pink tongue flicking over the silver utensil.

I watch her finish the cobbler without saying a word. She does a tiny dance on her seat with the last bite; it takes iron clad control to stop the chuckle in my throat. It would only make her self conscious, and my hard gaze on the spoon entering her mouth repeatedly is likely unsettling enough.

When she finishes the cobbler, she pushes it away in exchange for the pudding.

“How is bartending going for you? Do you like it?” I ask, when the pudding is almost gone.

She shrugs and offers, “It’s not bad. It takes my mind off things, and the people are surprisingly nice. I haven’t met a drunken asshole yet.”

“What about a prick making a pass at you?” I ask, and she pauses with the spoon a few inches from her mouth. Damn it, of course, that’s happened. She shifts uncomfortably so I change the subject. “What were you doing before you came here?”

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