She could’ve worn a sack, she’d look stunning regardless. But he did love this outfit, he did love the fact that she’d thought about what to wear for him. But his customary facility with compliments had fled. Hell, his whole brain seemed to have blown.
The relief when he pulled into the basement of his building was immense, but he could still barely speak as he led her into the elevator and keyed in the code to unlock access to the penthouse. He tossed his keys and wallet onto the nearest small table and breathed deeply.
‘You have amazing views up here.’ She walked through to the large lounge.
The penthouse overlooked the Hudson River, but she’d turned her back on the vast windows and was studying the apartment itself. Her avid curiosity made him smile.
‘What does the décor tell you?’ He relaxed enough to tease her. ‘Any insights you can glean about me from the room?’
That colour washed back into her cheeks and she touched her tongue to her lips in an unconsciously nervous, yet provocative gesture that made him harder than he’d been in his life. But it was imperative he go slow. That he give her every chance to change her mind. Hell, he still wasn’t anywhere near sure this was a good idea.
‘It does tell me a few things, actually.’ Her smile was suddenly impish.
‘Oh?’ He stilled. ‘Such as?’
‘You like comfort.’ Her smile widened as she ran her hand over the soft woollen throw on the arm of his massive plush sofa. ‘You’re a sensualist, for all your outward discipline.’
Heat pooled in his already aching body. Because—at least as far as she was concerned—she was right.
‘What would the palace tell me about you?’ he asked huskily.
‘It would tell you everything about my family going back eight hundred years or so. Before then, there was a fire and we lost those very valuable records. But the art and antiques collection that has been amassed over the centuries is amazing.’
‘But what about your room?’ he pressed, keen to know something more of her. ‘Do you not get to choose your own pink fluffy cushions Princess Palace-Style?’
‘Never,’ she giggled. ‘That wouldn’t do. The décor has remained mostly the same for ever.’
But wasn’t she the Queen? Didn’t she get to dictate—demand fulfilment of her every whim?
‘That’s a shame,’ he commiserated lightly. ‘You should get to choose your own cushions. I like cushions.’
‘I can tell.’ She laughed as she gazed at the plump pile of them on one low shelf.
‘Home should be welcoming,’ he said, unafraid to admit it.
‘Well, I don’t know that you could call Monrova palace welcoming. I mean, it is amazing and stunning and beautiful but—’
‘Not very comfortable?’ He frowned. ‘If everything is ancient, won’t the seats be too small? Doorways too low?’
‘Oh, the doorways were built for giants, but that has meant it’s been challenging to heat.’ She ventured deeper into his lounge, studying the spines of the books lining the shelves. She paused at one point. ‘Is this your mother?’ she asked.
Of course, she’d spotted his one personal photo in the whole penthouse.
‘I don’t have a mother,’ he said.
She turned to face him. ‘Everyone has a mother,’ she said gently. ‘It’s basic biology.’
‘Biology?’ he echoed. Then he could keep this straightforward and factual. ‘Okay, there was the woman who gave birth to me. Then there was the woman who supposedly adopted me. And then there was the woman who saved me. Which would you say is my mother?’ He couldn’t help the bitterness in his tone.
And when he summoned the courage to look directly at her, he saw her jade eyes glimmering with an emotion he didn’t want to identify.
‘The one who saved you,’ she said.
She was right, of course. The nearest he’d had to a mother. The woman he owed everything. Alvaro never discussed his personal life or background. But he understood Jade’s curiosity because he felt the same about her. So for once he offered just a little.
‘Her name is Ellen.’ His gaze rested on the photo briefly and he couldn’t help a small smile because Ellen hated that picture. ‘She’s still alive and I see her regularly.’ He looked back to Jade, but her eyes were still filled with soft compassion. ‘Come on,’ he growled and strode through to the open-plan kitchen.
‘You’re cooking?’ Jade studied the preparations he already had under way on the large wooden bench.
‘I’m fairly competent,’ he teased at her surprise. ‘Are you willing to risk it?’
‘Of course,’ she rushed to answer with that cut-glass courtesy, but that delicious flush swarmed her cheeks again. ‘Thank you for going to the trouble.’
‘I don’t think cooking is the trouble here,’ he muttered, barely holding himself together. She got to him in ways other than the one he expected. ‘Do you think we can be civilised for a few more minutes?’
‘Is that what we’re trying to do?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
Oh, she was going to be the absolute death of him. He braced both hands on the bench and let out a helpless laugh. ‘Given I know how rubbish you are at keeping regular meals when left to your own devices, I don’t want you running out of energy any time soon.’
‘So, it’s purely for biological reasons?’
‘No,’ he growled. ‘It’s because you need time to be sure.’
‘I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t,’ she replied with determined ease. ‘It’s only...’
‘Sex?’
That colour stormed into her cheeks.
He gazed at her, grappling with his conscience. That was how he’d always thought of it, but he wasn’t sure that this time it was. He didn’t feel guilty about taking what she was offering, but he wanted it to be better than ‘only sex’ for her.
Suddenly he couldn’t resist touching her. He walked over and lifted her chin with just a finger. She tilted instantly, willing and welcome. Slowly he pressed his lips to hers in a tentative, gentle touch—truly first-kiss-worthy. Her response was instant. Her soft, sweet mouth surprisingly mobile, she teased him back and made him forget about first kiss anything. She knew what she wanted and he wanted it too. He’d always worked like a dog until he got it. So he’d do the same now. And there was nothing he wanted more in the world in this instant than Jade Monroyale’s total satisfaction.