A little on the wild sid.., p.16
A Little on the Wild Side, page 16
part #3 of Wild Thing Series
He disappeared into the kitchen again and returned with a salad that was to die for. Feta cheese crumbled over romaine, and what looked like chopped kale, endive, artichoke hearts, along with slivers of carrots, olives, dried cranberries, and pumpkin seeds. Her mouth watered so much she had to swallow it back. “Where did you get all this? Is there a Michelin three-star restaurant in Boise?”
Trapper looked a little smug—not something she was used to seeing outside the bedroom. “There might be. I’m not sure. When I’m home, I cook for myself—and now for you too.”
She didn’t know anyone who could cook like this except the chef she’d met at that hot restaurant—Daniel in Manhattan. He’d asked her out. One night at his place had been enough to turn her off food entirely. Pregnancy, however, changed that. Maybe it was pregnancy and Trapper. “You cooked this? By yourself?”
“Yeah, I came home and caught you sleeping with Gramps, so I decided to let you two snooze while I fixed dinner. I would have invited him to stay if this wasn’t a date.”
So they were back to the whole date thing again? “I don’t understand why you’re so insistent on dating. I mean, the food looks great—” She took a bite of risotto and groaned. Great wasn’t a strong enough adjective, but then she wasn’t sure there was one she could use to describe a multiple mouth orgasm. “It tastes even better than it looks. My God, what did you do to this?” She asked around a mouth full of food, not even bothering to hide the fact her manners were MIA.
He shrugged and dug in. “I cooked it. What do you mean, what did I do?” He filled his mouth, chewed, and seemed pleased with the end result.
“So you came home and threw together a gourmet meal? Just like that?”
“No.” He cut into his fish. “I had to shop first. I didn’t have any salmon, and I wanted to get fresh veggies for you.”
He had shopped and cooked for her? She didn’t think anyone had ever gone to that much trouble for her before. She cut into the salmon steak with the side of her fork and watched the tender fish flake. It was done to perfection. She should know. She was a total food snob. She refused to ingest caloric food unless it was exceptional. Life was too short and her workouts too hard to waste calories on crap. Well, crap that wasn’t Five Guys burgers and fries. So, pregnancy did change a few things when it came to her eating habits. “Thank you. It’s amazing. If that whole judge thing doesn’t work out for you, you could always become a chef.”
“It’s good to see you eat.”
And she was eating. Everything. God, she was suddenly so ravenous. She’d be as big as a sumo wrestler soon if she didn’t watch herself. She devoured all of the food on her plate and had seconds of salad.
When she looked up from cleaning her plate, she found Trapper watching her. She’d been too busy stuffing her mouth to notice and realized she hadn’t been much of a conversationalist.
Trapper had pushed his chair away from the table, crossed his legs, and sat back. He rested his glass of nonalcoholic wine on his knee as if he’d been at it awhile. “There’s more if you’re still hungry.”
Her face heated, and she felt as if she could eat for another hour, but she’d already made such a pig of herself—at breakfast, lunch, and now dinner. And that wasn’t including the snacks Kate had left for her. “No, thanks. I shouldn’t. Who knows if it’s going to all stay down?”
“I guess we can have a midnight snack, or a nine o’clock snack, since ten seems to be your new bedtime. Come on.” He helped her out of her chair. “I have a movie all cued up I think you’ll like. Go ahead, and I’ll bring out the popcorn. It’ll just take me a few minutes.”
“I’ll help with the cleanup.” She grabbed her plate and reached for his when he stopped her. His hand firm but gentle against her wrist.
“No, you won’t.” He kissed her, a simple kiss on the lips, as if he did it without thinking, as if kissing her was something he did all the time, as if it was second nature. No one had ever kissed her like that—it was the kind of kiss she saw in movies that showed the characters were in love. A simple peck that meant nothing and everything.
No one had ever kissed her without an agenda. Usually the agenda was to bag Bianca Ferrari, supermodel. Trapper kissed her just to kiss her. Not that he didn’t want to sleep with her—he did, even now, which was just inexplicable—but he hadn’t had an agenda when he’d done it. And the fact that he’d done it left her speechless.
Trapper smiled at her discomposure and then pushed her hair behind her ear. “You’re on bed rest, remember? I can do the few dishes left while the popcorn is popping. Go lie down on the couch. Just try not to fall asleep.”
She could only nod and do what she was told. She made her way to the den. The fireplace was blazing, and candles were lit on the mantel. There were even flowers—her favorite flowers in the world—baby pink roses. They conveyed admiration and joyfulness. She much preferred them to tacky red roses that were as common as a cold in December. These roses were the softest of pink, so pretty, soothing, and they smelled heavenly. He was sure doing a bang-up job on the dating front, and she was turning into a sucker.
***
Oh shit. What had he done now?
Trapper walked into the den and found Bianca crying—again. She wasn’t bawling this time. No, she was just brushing the tears from her face and sniffling. It was an improvement over the meltdown she’d had that morning. Still, the sight of Bianca crying in any way was enough to bring him to his knees, which was exactly what happened. He set the massive bowl of barely salted popcorn on the coffee table and knelt beside her. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong? What did I do?” He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. “I’m sorry. Whatever it is, I’m sorry.”
“You bought me roses. Not just any roses, you bought me my favorite roses.”
And this was a bad thing? “I didn’t buy them to make you cry. I’ll get rid of them.” He rolled back on his heels to do just that, and she grabbed him.
“No. Don’t you dare. I love them.”
“Then why are you crying?”
“You bought me my favorite roses.” She spoke slowly as one would when talking to a person with a very low IQ—which was exactly how he felt. Damn, he was so confused. She must be going through some kind of hormonal overload because Bianca was not the type of woman to cry over a dozen roses—even if she knew he had to go to three damn florists to find them. Baby pink roses—he cringed remembering the humiliation of asking for them. He was less weirded out buying Karma tampons—at least with those, he didn’t have to ask anyone for help. “You like the roses, and you’re crying? Pregnancy hormones then?”
“Probably not. I’m just…” Her hands went up as if she were gesturing for help from the gods. “I don’t know…touched, I guess. No one has ever bought me flowers, or cooked me dinner, or kissed me just to kiss me, unless they were trying to get into my panties.”
He couldn’t help but smile. “Who says I’m not trying to get into your panties?”
“You don’t have to try to do that. My panties seem to disappear whenever you’re around. That’s the point. You don’t have to do any of this, and yet you did, and I’m…I’m…”
“Happy?”
“Overwhelmed.”
He took a deep breath and rested his forehead against hers, closing his eyes tight and drinking in her scent—the woman could make a mint if she could bottle it as perfume. “I kiss you because I can’t help myself. I see you, and I want to touch you. I want to hold you and kiss you and make love to you—I don’t even think about it—it’s just a natural reaction to being close to you. The first time I laid eyes on you, I wanted to pick you up, throw you over my shoulder, and carry you to my cave.”
“You did?”
“Yes, I did.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “That had never happened to me before, and I was not at all happy when I saw you sneaking into Fisher’s cabin.”
“I thought it was Hunter’s and I thought I had an invitation.”
He cleared his throat. “That doesn’t make it go down any easier, sweetheart.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay. I got over it.” The memory still bothered him, but shit, there was nothing either of them could do about it. He wasn’t comfortable with the thought of Bianca wanting anyone but him—the fact that it had been one of his brothers made it worse.
“I don’t understand why you’re doing all this?”
“This—meaning buying you flowers?”
“The flowers, the dinner, the candles, the date?”
“I bought you flowers because I thought you’d enjoy them. Making you happy is important to me. You’re important to me. I cooked for you because I like taking care of you, I want you to be healthy, and I want you to choose to stay here with me—and not just while you’re on bed rest. I want you to stay because this is where you belong.” And since he was doing his best to start a real relationship, trying to lay a foundation for their future, he decided he’d step even farther out of his comfort zone and go for an emotional Full Monty. “And because I want to impress you.”
Her eyes went wide. He didn’t know if it was from shock or revulsion. “I’m very impressed, but I was wrong. You do have an agenda after all.”
He shrugged. It was true. He definitely had an agenda, and he refused to feel sorry about it. He’d do whatever it took to change Bianca’s mind about leaving him, and help her see that they could have something special together, if only she gave their relationship a chance. But he wouldn’t tell her that now—it was a little heavy for a first date. “We should get to the movie before the popcorn gets cold. I put a little salt on it, but not as much as usual. Popcorn without any salt kind of sucks. I tried it.”
She let out a relieved laugh. “I agree with you there. Thanks for the little cheat.” She gave him a peck on the lips that looked as if it surprised her as much as it had him. She wasn’t one for handing out thank-you kisses for something like salted popcorn or even her favorite roses. She scooted back against the pillows piled against the arm of the couch as he stood. “What movie did you pick out for us to watch?”
“How do you feel about Jane Austen?”
She laughed then, a full belly laugh that made him wonder if he’d made another mistake. “You really do have a serious agenda, don’t you? God, I didn’t think any man would voluntarily sit through a Jane Austen flick, even if it was the only way to get what he wanted.”
“I’ll have you know that I double-majored in history and English in college and took an entire class on Jane Austen’s writings. I considered going for my MFA before I decided on law school. I planned to do my dissertation on Austen from the male perspective. She’s one of my favorite authors.”
“You’re serious?”
She thought he was feeding her a line. “Yes, and I can prove it.” He pointed to his bookshelf. “I have the first Brock edition set of Jane Austen’s complete novels. They cost me a pretty penny. The collection was the first thing I purchased when I paid off my student loans.”
“You had student loans?” She stammered and stopped. “I mean…I’m just surprised. I can’t believe your grandfather didn’t pay for your education.”
Trapper sat back and pulled Bianca’s feet onto his lap. “So was he. And, no, Gramps didn’t pay for my education, but it wasn’t for lack of trying on his part.”
“And you accuse me of being stubbornly independent?”
He shrugged. “I got through college on a scholarship and had scholarship money for grad school too—but not enough to cover everything.”
“So you’re telling me that Joe Walsh, a man who has been at the top of the Forbes list since its inception, was willing to pay for your education, and you refused to accept his generous offer?”
“Yes.”
“And he let you get away with it?”
“Not without a fight, but that’s the way it is with Gramps. He wasn’t happy about it. We had more words than Webster’s Dictionary over my decision. You haven’t lived until you see Big Joe Walsh in full fury—the old man is scary when he doesn’t get his own way. Still, it was nice to know he and his money were available if I needed either more than I needed my pride. I’m glad I didn’t. I really hate to eat crow. As for Gramps, he got over it—eventually.”
“You’re just as stubborn and hardheaded as he is, aren’t you?”
“I choose to think of it as bound and determined.”
She let out a laugh and wrinkled her nose like she got a whiff of sour milk. “You would.”
He wondered if she knew how cute she looked when she did that? He wasn’t in the mood to fight, so he didn’t mention that sometimes she didn’t look anything like a supermodel—not when she was with him and relaxed and thinking about something other than work. The Bianca persona was nothing like his Bianca. The one he saw glimpses of when they were in Stanley together last summer—glimpses of that Bianca was what drew him in. It was the Bianca people didn’t see through the lens of a camera—the lightning-quick flash of emotion you’d miss if you weren’t focused on her expression and not her words. The way she ran from the emotional spotlight, even while smiling pretty for the camera. The woman who avoided connecting with people, as if she saw everyone as a possible threat.
“Which Jane Austen movie did you pick?”
“I thought we’d start the BBC miniseries Pride and Prejudice. That way we can watch it in sections.” He looked at her closely—even after napping, she still looked tired. “I doubt you’re up for a five-hour miniseries.”
“Have you seen the most recent film with Keira Knightley and Matthew Macfadyen?”
“Sure, but I thought the BBC version was closer to the book—most of the dialogue is word for word, and I think they did a better job of capturing the character of Mr. Bennet. And, let’s face it, Jennifer Ehle is hot.”
“And Keira Knightley isn’t?” She smiled and rolled her eyes. “I thought you would prefer Jane Bennet over Elizabeth anyway.”
“Because Jane’s a blonde?” He wondered if she knew Jennifer Ehle was a blonde in real life. “No, I like women with spunk, obviously.” He gave her calf a squeeze and shot her a smile. Her toes curled in his hand. “Look at you—you’re the definition of spunky.” And difficult, but he kept that little tidbit to himself. “Hair color doesn’t matter. I don’t have a type, if that’s what you’re inferring. I will admit to having a real weakness for women who give me a hard time, which explains both our relationship and why I have yet to kill Karma. I love that you can stand up to me in an argument. You aren’t only capable of it; you excel, and usually win. I knew that as soon as you threw that cup of coffee at me.”
She nudged him in the ribs with her stocking foot. “You deserved it.”
“Maybe. But could I help it that you took me for a stupid cowboy? You made a false assumption and then didn’t like the way it made you look.”
She poked him again. Harder. “I didn’t think you were a stupid cowboy. I just didn’t know you were a judge. You could hardly blame me. How many thirty-five-year-old judges do you know—other than yourself, that is?”
She had him there. “Not many.” He grabbed the remote, hit play, handed her the bowl of popcorn, and watched the emotions crossing her face as the story of Pride and Prejudice unfolded.
Trapper saw the moment her exhaustion overtook her interest and paused the show. She didn’t open her eyes, and since she looked as comfortable as he felt, he sat watching her sleep, not willing to spoil the vision of Bianca Ferrari with every one of her protective shields down.
She’d been more relaxed than he’d ever seen her. She looked happy and entertained and comfortable. Normally he couldn’t touch her without feeling as if she were a skittish horse waiting for the jab of a spur. If Fisher had made an appearance and taken her blood pressure this evening, Trapper was sure it would have been as close to normal as it would likely get. “Maybe this dating thing wasn’t such a bad idea after all,” he mumbled as he slid out from beneath Bianca’s feet. She was out for the count, so he went to the bedroom and pulled down the covers. If she didn’t wake when he picked her up, he’d put her to bed in her new clothes—it wasn’t as if she hadn’t already slept in them.
Chapter 13
Half-awake, Bianca snuggled closer to the warmth. Her head felt heavy so she rested it against the solid chest of the man who carried her. Trapper—his scent and strength wrapped her in comfort, the steady thump of his heart against her ear lulled her, leaving her mind to float into a place she wasn’t used to occupying.
Trapper was the only man who had ever carried her when she wasn’t working as a model. He was also the only man who made her feel secure in his arms, sure in the knowledge he’d keep her safe. She was a big girl. She might not have weighed a lot until recently, but she was six feet tall—a handful, even if she had worn a size two.
“Don’t worry. I’ve got you.” Trapper’s gravelly voice rumbled through his chest right into the ear resting on it.
She hadn’t been worried. She would have told him so if she weren’t mostly asleep. She’d never been a heavy sleeper, but since her pregnancy, she felt so out of it. She wasn’t sure she could wake up if she wanted to. She was content to stay just where she was. She should shake herself out of the twilight zone and go to bed on her own, but she was tired of fighting. She was too tired to walk, she was relaxed and warm, and she trusted Trapper to take care of her.
A little niggle of fear raced up her spine, zinging her with an ever-present danger warning. She was used to it, and for the first time, she was able to ignore it.
She didn’t have the energy to fight her feelings for Trapper that constantly bombarded her. She didn’t want to. She wanted to grab them, hold them close, and never let go.
Whenever Trapper did something like this, something selfless and caring and sweet and sexy, her defenses broke down like the walls of a cliff attacked by the constant rush of a raging sea. She could almost see another section tumble into the abyss.
