Turn Me On. Dylan RoseЧитать онлайн книгу.

       CHAPTER THREE

      GREGOR WAS AWAKE earlier than usual the next morning. Over the past year, he had allowed himself to sleep in, ignoring the flurry of business emails and texts to be answered. After a while of not responding to them, the offers for appearances had started to die down—and he was okay with that. Ever since Emily had run off with his supposed best friend, Erik, all of the fame and money suddenly seemed less important. He had been on TV so long, he wasn’t even sure he could remember the reason he had wanted to cook and travel in the first place.

      This morning was different. Something about this beautiful young reporter had stirred something in him. He had the overwhelming need to please her. She was smart, sharp as a knife and gorgeous—it was true. But he had been with plenty of smart, good-looking women before. Staring out his bedroom window at the perfectly manicured lawn, he decided that it was Faye’s sincerity that was having this profound effect on him. She just seemed so genuine.

      Suddenly he had a strange flash of him and Faye with two kids, pushing a pram in Hyde Park. Gregor shivered. He had always been adamant about not wanting kids. It was one of the things that made him so attracted to Emily. She was always ready for the next party, never wanting to settle down. He had a strange feeling that something was shifting inside him. It was damn near disconcerting.

      Feeling the pangs of hunger pinch at his stomach, he threw on some jeans and a T-shirt and made his way into the kitchen. The house was still quiet, so he assumed his guest was still asleep. Had it been a mistake to bring her here? he wondered. Not because he didn’t trust her—he had trusted her fully from the first moment they had locked eyes—but because he wasn’t sure if he wanted the world to know what had been going on with him.

      Surveying the state of the kitchen—it was fully cleaned and spotless—Gregor shook his head and smiled, realizing Faye must have done it. How could she have had the presence of mind to clean a kitchen after what had transpired? He remembered how Faye had looked after he had given her an orgasm to end all orgasms—maybe his best work yet.

      It had taken everything in him to not unleash his raging hard-on that he had been harboring since the airport and plunge it deep into that inviting opening of hers. Of course, his cock had been aching for her, particularly when she leaned on him in her sleep during the flight. Their scene in the kitchen was a total feat of restraint, as far as Gregor was concerned. He had gone back to his room and given himself release thinking about her gorgeous naked body, that was true. To Gregor, it was more important that she knew he was attentive to her than for him to get what he needed. It was a lesson he had learned firsthand long ago.

      Her name was Marina and she was the chef in the restaurant where he had been a busboy at age eighteen. She was older—probably late thirties—and they’d spent many late nights together in the restaurant long after the dining room had closed. Marina was more than his lover, she was his mentor, teaching him everything she knew about sex and cooking. The two were not that dissimilar, really. They both required a heightened use of their senses, attention to detail, precision and the unwavering confidence to be bold in their choices and execution. He had gone from being a child that thought pleasuring a woman was something you had to do to get your own bits off, to an act to be savored in its own right, like prying open a luscious oyster and reveling in the sweet and tangy flesh as it slid down your throat.

      He hadn’t thought that way about food—or a woman—in a long time. In fact, everything in his life felt a bit stagnant. At first it had felt good to turn down shows and speaking engagements—it was freeing, really. But then he stopped answering when friends called, and even stopped cooking altogether. It was just him anyway, so what was the point?

      As he scanned the kitchen area, he looked for the tools he needed. He reached for the pan on the rack above the range and opened the subzero fridge, pulling out herbs, spices, anything he could get his hands on that would go together. He had the sudden urge to cook for this woman—to create something special and watch her consume it. He needed to see that look of happiness on her face and this was the one thing he knew he could do well.

      After laboring over the stove for forty-five minutes, cooking an exquisite breakfast of eggs, vegetable and fruit, and brewing French-press coffee, he had hoped the aroma would have stirred Faye, but the house was just as quiet as when he had gotten up. Walking quietly down the hall toward the guest bedroom, he listened at the door for a moment for any signs of activity before cracking it open just the slightest bit and peeking his head inside.

      The outline of Faye’s body was visible in the bed, and all but a few strands of her blond hair were covered by the comforter. Gregor thought about waking her up, but instead decided to let her be. Opening the window, he reached out and plucked a peony from his garden and placed it on the pillow next to her before quietly taking leave of her room.