But then Drea and I broke up, and rather than hold up her end of the agreement and do something worthwhile, she’s decided that being the face of a luxury brand and appearing at their grand opening is much more important.
“There’s no reason you can’t just do it by yourself,” Liz says, leaning back in her chair. “Mickey Mouse is a big draw on his own, and so are you.”
I shrug. “I know. I just don’t want the Minnie costume to go to waste. I guess that doesn’t really matter. The kids matter.”
Liz nods approvingly just as the door opens and Cora carries in a tray. I swallow at the sight of her. I hope she’s not too embarrassed still from what happened the other day, when I unthinkingly opened my bedroom door after hopping out of the shower. Drea had been texting me bullshit and abuse after we ended our call, and I was reading through it after throwing on a towel.
The heated look on Cora’s face is still fresh in my mind. Her wide-eyed gaze had gone over me at least three times before settling down below my waist. I’m generously endowed, and even flaccid my cock makes an impressive shape under the towel.
But the way she was looking had my cock quickly going from flaccid to steel, and I thank God for that timer going off when it did.
“Lunch is served,” Cora says without looking at me.
I, on the other hand, always look when she’s around—at her long, shiny golden hair, her California-tan skin, her round, luminous hazel eyes. She’s usually in chef’s whites with her hair up, but even then, she’s still gorgeous. Her body is shapely and beautifully curved, evident even under the shapeless uniform she wears.
I’ve had it bad for Cora for a while—I’m sorry to say, even while I was still technically dating Drea. I don’t take pride in my wandering eye, but my relationship with Drea—and my feelings for her—faded long before we finally called it quits. I’ve never cheated on a woman and never will, but I admit, it was hard to keep my gaze off Cora when I was in a relationship in name only.
When we finally broke up, my feelings for Cora surged full tilt, but I would never want to make her uncomfortable by acting on anything. She’s a pro, she’s my employee, and LA is already full enough of pervy bosses taking advantage of employees.
“Looks delicious,” Liz says, leaning forward to examine her plate.
A perfectly cooked Chilean sea bass fillet rests on a bed of creamy risotto and is covered in a light sauce. Sautéed string beans lay artfully beside the pile. The look and smell of it makes my mouth water.
“I hope you enjoy,” Cora says quietly, then backs out. As she shuts the door, our gazes lock for a beat.
Liz forks off a bite of sea bass. “Someone has a crush.”
“She’s my chef, Liz.”
“She’s also a beautiful woman, and you’re single.” Liz arches a brow at me. “It’s time to move on from that selfish little twat, anyway.”
I snort, shaking my head as I drag my fork through the risotto. “Maybe, but I-I’m not really interested in anyone.” Anyone I can actually date, that is.
“Bullshit.” Liz presses her napkin to her lips. “You can’t fool me, Wy. You want Cora.”
I roll my eyes. “Let’s get back to the hospital visit.”
“Why not ask her to be your Minnie?” Liz says, tilting her head toward the door. “She can fit that costume—probably fill it out better than Drea, anyway. The visit’s in two days.”
“I doubt she’d want to.”
“Have you asked?” Liz bats her eyes at me, then returns to her food.
There’d be no way that Cora would have the time or desire to drop everything and don a silly costume and go with me . . .
Is there?
3
Cora
I finish prepping a jar of overnight oats for Wyatt, then turn my attention to the mound of dishes in the sink. So far, today is going smoothly. I haven’t embarrassed myself by ogling Wyatt’s perfect body—and I do mean perfect. I’ve made a delicious meal for him and his publicist. I’ll do these dishes and be on my way, and everything will be fine.
Except that damn look he gave me when I was leaving his office. Shit.
A flash of heat goes through me at the memory, and then I’m remembering the beautiful sight from a few days ago. And that damn bulge under his towel. It had to be eight, nine inches long. And thick. God.
It’s been approximately a thousand years since I’ve been with anyone. Most of the time, I can distract myself by throwing myself into my work and focusing on the catering business I want to open. But then every so often, I’m triggered.
A flood of moisture slicks between my thighs. My mind takes me on a little fantasy—what might have happened in a different world the other day. I reach forward and pull away that towel, then lower myself to my knees, looking up at him. I take him into my mouth, and he moans and twists his fingers into my hair. “I love you so much,” he breathes, his hips moving faster as he approaches his climax. “You’re the only woman for me . . .” He bursts in my mouth, and I swallow him down like he’s the life force I need to keep going. “I love you, Cora. Cora—”
“Cora?”
I jump, the pan I was apparently washing over and over clattering into the sink. I spin around, face hot.
Wyatt stands behind me, holding two plates and silverware. His meeting must be over now. He lifts a brow at me. “You all right?”
“Uh-huh.” I turn around and pick up the pan. I made no progress on the dishes at all—all I did was wipe one pan over and over and over. Christ.
“Want some help?” Wyatt steps forward and sets his dishes in the sink, then grabs another sponge and begins cleaning them.
I gape at him. “This—this is my job, Mr. Williams.”
“I know. But we could all use a hand sometimes, right?”
His shoulder brushes mine as he stands beside me. I realize how tall he is—the top of my head just clears his shoulder.
Side by side, we make quick work of the dishes. Wyatt reaches for a dish towel to wipe them dry.
“Here, I should really be—”
“Sit down. Rest your feet.” He nods toward a stool at the bar. “I got this.”
“Um . . . okay.” What the hell is going on here?
“There’s something I want to talk to you about,” he says, stacking clean plates and reaching for a sauté pan.
Oh no. I cringe inwardly. I don’t want to talk about the towel fiasco. “Mr. Williams, I shouldn’t have gone upstairs the other day. I know what you told me, but it really does feel invasive of your privacy, and—”
“That’s not what I’m talking about.” His lips curve into a sexy smile. “Have you been thinking about that?”
My eyes widen. “I, uh—I—”
“I’m teasing,” he says gently. “Don’t worry about that—I should be apologizing to you.”
I think back on the past couple of nights, how I got myself off with my fingers to hot orgasms that had me moaning his name. “No. Really, you don’t need to apologize. This is your house, after all.”