Deep Surrendering (Episode Two) (9 page)

I thought Fin would call the concierge again, or maybe have something delivered, but instead he took me into his bright and shiny kitchen, sat me on a stool, and said he was going to cook for me.

“What are you making?”

He was saved from responding by a knock at the door.

“Stay there,” he said, going to answer the door. My body might not be his anymore, but it seemed that he still wanted control.

I waited and he came back a few moments later with a stack of boxes and a few bags. I had the feeling they weren’t from Target.

“If there’s anything you don’t like, we can call down and get something else.”

“I’m sure this will be fine,” I said, taking a few things from him and starting to walk toward the bedroom.

“What are you doing?”

What did it look like I was doing? “Getting dressed.”

“Can I watch?”

“You want to watch me put clothes
on
?”

“Yes.”

No guy had ever said such a thing to me, but then again, Fin wasn’t like any guy I’d ever known, so I shouldn’t have been all that shocked by this particular request.

“Well, let’s see what’s in here first.”

I set everything down on the large dining table and started opening boxes.

“Oh, Fin.” I sighed. This was all too much. A silk tank and lacy shorts, a plush robe, a set of silky pajama pants with matching shirt, and lastly, a plain cotton tank and gray sweatpants that were as soft as a kitten. There were also several pairs of underwear and a few bras as well. How the hell he knew my bra size was beyond me. I wasn’t even sure I knew my bra size. Sloane did, though.

“I wasn’t sure what you would like, so I had them get a few different things.”

“I think you went a little overboard. You could have just asked me.”

“I could have, but that would have spoiled the surprise of watching what you’d choose,” he said with a grin. Okay, that was a fair point.

“How about you guess and then I tell you if you’re right or not?” Game on.

He came over and spent a long time studying each piece of fabric, running his hands over each one before choosing a sweet pair of cotton panties with a bit of lace on them, the gray sweatpants, and the silk tank. No bra.

“Did I guess right?”

My only response was to shrug the robe off my shoulders and take the pair of panties from him, bending down to step into them and slowly pull them up my legs, watching him watch me. Who knew putting clothes on could feel as sexy as taking them off?

Next came the silky top and lastly the sweatpants. They definitely weren’t the sexiest things I’d ever worn, but they were freaking comfortable.

“Better?” I said when I was done. Fin hadn’t taken his eyes off me as I’d gotten dressed. I’d half expected him to throw me over his shoulder and take me back to the bedroom, but instead he held out his arms and I walked into them.

He held me and rocked me back and forth and kissed my forehead. I was the only one in pajamas, but I didn’t care.

“Thank you for the PJs,” I said into his chest.

“You’re welcome. I like spoiling you.” We broke apart and went back to the kitchen.

“I’ve got high expectations of whatever you’re going to make me. You’d better fulfill them.” I leaned on the island and watched him pull a few things out of the fridge. Eggs, mushrooms, scallions, ginger. Then he brought out some stock and a few other things.

“Egg drop soup. It’s my ultimate comfort food. Normally I make homemade dumplings to go with it, but tonight I’ve got some store bought.”

“I’ve had it before, but it wasn’t very good.”

Fin shook his head and started slicing up the mushrooms.

“That’s a tragedy is what that is. Before the night is out, we’ll wipe away all the memories of that subpar soup, I guarantee you.” He’d wiped away a lot of memories. Soup wasn’t going to be a problem.

I watched him move around the kitchen, and it was the same way he moved in the bedroom. Here was a place he was comfortable, where he knew what he was doing. I’d love to see him at work. He was probably commanding there, too.

The smells coming from the pot he had going on the stove were heavenly.

“Is there anything I can do?”

“No, I’ve got this, but thank you. Besides, I normally don’t let anyone cook in my kitchen. I can be obsessive that way.”

I put my hands up in defeat. “Okay, psycho chef. I won’t touch your implements.”

He gave me a look.

“There is one implement I might let you touch, but not unless I say so.”

“I know, I know. You wear the pants, Mr. Controlly.”

That remark earned me another look and he pointed at me with a wooden spoon. “Don’t make me come over there and spank you.”

“Is that a threat or a promise?” I got a kick out of baiting him like this. Of feeling like I had the ability to wind him up. To ruffle his composure a bit.

“You’re skating on thin ice, Cherry.” I liked his nickname for me. I’d also highly enjoyed that lube he had. Speaking of the lube . . .

“Did you call down to the concierge to bring you that lube?”

“Yes, why?” He stirred the contents of the pot and threw in some scallions.

“Yeah, I call people to pick me up lube all the time. No big.”

“That is not the most . . . interesting item the concierge desk has gotten for me. Believe me, Marisol. They sign confidentiality agreements to work in this building.” I tried not to think about the other items they’d gotten for him, shoving that thought to the back of my mind.

“You are quite the specimen, Fin Herald.” He just grinned at me over the steam coming from the soup pot.

“This is almost ready.”

After getting two large bowls from the cupboard, he served the soup, adding dumplings to each bowl. If it tasted as amazing as it smelled, I was in for the best soup of my life.

“So, is this our fifth date? Is egg drop soup the fifth date food?” I asked as I swirled my spoon around the bowl.

He nodded. “Absolutely. Those are the rules. I don’t make them, I just follow them.”

“You, follow rules?”

He smiled slowly. “Sometimes. And sometimes I make my own rules.”

I had no doubt of that.

“Try it,” he said. “Please.”

I cut one of the dumplings in half with my spoon and blew on it a little before putting it in my mouth. Yup. Most delicious soup ever.

Fin watched me eat and I wanted to tell him to stop, but he seemed concerned about whether I would like his soup or not. Even if I didn’t like it, I would have lied. We were still at that stage of the relationship. Or whatever this was supposed to be. We hadn’t put definitions on it, and I had the feeling Fin wasn’t a definition kind of guy.

“It’s fabulous. Really.” He grinned and picked up his spoon.

I was so hungry and the soup was so good that I ate two bowls. When we were finished, Fin took the dishes to the sink and I got up from the stool to help him wash them.

“No, no. Go sit on the couch. I’ve got this.” He didn’t leave room for argument, so I crossed to the living room, but I didn’t sit on the couch. I wanted to look around while he was occupied.

There were a hell of a lot of books. You’d need a ladder to get to the volumes on the higher shelves. The spines were all different, from those covered in leather with gold embossing to cheap paperbacks that were cracked with use. Turning my head to the side, I read some of the authors, hoping they were shelved in alphabetical order.

They weren’t. He had a beautiful leather-bound copy of
A Tale of Two Cities
nestled right next to a paperback of
The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo
, with a George R. R. Martin hardcover on the other side.

“Looking at my books.” This time I turned right around and smacked him in the chest.

“Stop sneaking up on me. And yes, I’m looking at your books. Are they shelved in any particular way?” I stepped away from him to read more of the titles. He even had several law books, medical journals, and other textbooks in amongst the novels. His collection of books was starting to make me feel less and less intelligent. But maybe he hadn’t read all of them.

“Yes, but I couldn’t explain it in any way that would make sense to you.”

I nodded and scanned some more titles. “Which is your favorite?” I heard him laughing behind me as if I’d said something quite hilarious.

“What’s so funny?” I looked away from the books, and at Fin, who was still laughing.

“That question always makes me laugh. As if you can only have one favorite book. I have hundreds of favorite books, and my favorites are always changing. When I was a baby,
Goodnight, Moon
was my favorite. Now it’s
one
of my favorites. Can you pick one favorite?”

Not that I didn’t read, but I was illiterate next to Fin. “I don’t know. I’d have to think about it.”

“Don’t pick the answer you think I want. I’m not going to change my opinion of you based on your answer.” Even though it was a summer night and he had the air conditioning on, he crouched down, flicked a button and the fire ignited. The fake flames danced on his face and reminded me of the enchanted forest bedroom.

“Fine. Then my answer is that’s it’s a three-way battle between
1984
,
The Hunger Games,
and
The Book Thief
.” He nodded but didn’t look up at me. I waited for his reaction. Fin stood and reached for a volume on the shelf, handing it to me. Then he went for another. And a third.

They were my three books. He had them too, and by the looks of them, they’d been read a few times. “So you’re a fan of sci-fi and dystopian?” he said.

“I guess,” I replied. I looked down at the books. I could remember exactly where I’d been in my life when I’d read them, and how I’d felt after I’d finished. Like I couldn’t go back to normal life anymore because the words on those pages had changed me too much.

I glanced from the books up at Fin to find an expression I hadn’t seen before. Did he have yet another side that I hadn’t met yet?

“So,” I said, but my voice came out wrong. I cleared my throat. “So, do you read a lot?”

“I spend a lot of time traveling and flying and I have trouble sleeping most nights, so I guess you could say yes.” He took the books back from me and put them on the coffee table before taking my hand and leading me to the couch.

“Why don’t you sleep?”

“Too many thoughts.”

“Yeah, me too.” I snuggled against him, and he ran his hand through my hair. “You’re the strangest person I’ve ever met. I never know where you’re coming from, or where you’re going, or what you’re thinking. It’s very . . . unsettling,” I said.

Silence wrapped around us, apart from the constant noises of Boston. Like breathing, you got used to it and weren’t even aware of them. He didn’t say anything for a long time.

“I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or not.”

“It is a compliment. It’s rare to meet someone who changes how you think about people. How you judge them when you first meet and then those judgments turn out to be way off.”

“And I could say the same about you.” I felt my eyes closing from the combination of the vigorous sex and the soup, so I let them and just listened to the rise and fall of Fin’s breath and the beat of his heart.

“You’re very special, Mari Cherry,” he whispered.

The next thing I knew, I was back in the enchanted bedroom, but this time sunlight was seeping under the curtains and into the room. And I was alone.

I got up from the bed and wiped some drool from my cheek. Great. Now I was glad Fin wasn’t in the room with me. He probably wouldn’t think I was so special if he knew that sometimes I drooled when I was really tired.

It took me a few tries to get out of bed because it was so comfortable. Much better than mine. My back was already thanking me for deciding to stay the night. If I wasn’t careful, I was going to get used to staying here, and then going back to my real life was going to suck even worse. Like waking up from a beautiful dream. Or Cinderella going back to her garret after seeing the castle and dancing with the prince.