I shook my head, reaching for my sweater. ‘No, thanks, even princesses have to take a break from endlessly lounging about, waiting to be adored and pampered.’
He grimaced. ‘I’m not going to live that down, am I?’
‘Not for a long time, buster.’
He watched me pull on my sweater, disappointment in his eyes as I covered myself from chest to hip.
‘Would you like some socks?’ he asked, holding out a hand to help me up. ‘There’s underfloor heating but it’s patchy in places.’
The cabin was warm enough. ‘I’ll be fine. I want to explore the pantry.’
Again, he smiled. My heart tripped foolishly.
‘It’s right through there.’
I left him to tug on his boxers and headed for the pantry. The room was about eight feet deep, with shelves that stretched from floor to ceiling, and packed with enough food and supplies to last a good few weeks. Even months.
How long had he been planning on staying here? What had Stephanie done to make him retreat from the world?
Questions lingered while I clocked the types of food Jensen liked. I was reaching out for a packet when he materialised in the doorway.
I couldn’t help myself—I gaped at his delicious body. Watched him watch me as I adored him with my eyes, his cock thickening behind the stretchy fabric of his boxers. When my gaze returned to his face, his eyes were dark, gleaming in a way I’d learned signalled his arousal.
‘I make a mean chicken fettuccine. Will that work for you?’ he said, his voice a husky rasp.
‘Good to know. The question is can you make a mean chicken fettuccine...naked?’ I countered.
He delivered another one of those insanely sexy smiles, right before he yanked his boxers down his thick legs and kicked them away. I suppressed a gasp, my heart racing as he prowled towards me. ‘Whatever my mistress wants, my mistress gets.’
He plucked the packet from my nerveless fingers, calmly collected the rest of the ingredients and left the pantry. I followed, worried that I was seriously in danger of becoming addicted to Jensen Scott.
It became clear very quickly that he was a maestro in the kitchen. He diced vegetables and smashed garlic with shameless aplomb. I wasn’t even annoyed that I was reduced to simply fetching and carrying, the joy of watching him enough to dissipate my disgruntlement.
‘Like a glass of wine?’
I hadn’t spotted any wine when I fetched groceries from the fridge. He wasn’t storing it outside the cabin, was he? ‘Not if I have to venture out in that storm to get it, no.’
He laughed. ‘There’s a cooler in the pantry. I can’t promise the vintage will meet your high expectations, but it’s perfectly drinkable.’
My spirits plummeted, that stain of spoilt little rich girl cooling the atmosphere. I sensed his gaze on me as I went to the pantry. I’d missed it the first time round, probably distracted by a near-naked Jensen, but there it was in the back, a slimline cooler filled with a dozen bottles of white, and a wooden shelf next to it, holding bottles of red. I grabbed a white without reading the label, irritation warring with hurt as I returned to the kitchen.
He was leaning against the centre aisle, naked as the day he was born with his cock at half-mast. ‘Look, I didn’t mean—’
I stopped him with the dismissive wave of my hand. ‘If you’re going to throw another apology at me, don’t bother. I know I come with a few unsavoury labels. It’s not your fault if you can’t help but go with the evidence bandied about.’
‘You’re upset, so I’m guessing they’re not just meaningless labels?’ he pressed.
‘Is this just curiosity or do you actually want me to prove to you that I’m not what the media label me as?’
He shrugged. ‘I want to know you. To see the woman behind the labels for myself.’
My fingers tightened around the bottle, a profound shaking starting inside me I was loath to outwardly display.
It stunned me how deftly he continued to pull the rug from under my feet. First with his unguarded admission of his sexuality and now with this. I dragged my gaze from his, but only strayed as far as the window, at the snowstorm raging harder with no signs of stopping.
The wind picked up then, and a loose branch smashed against the window, echoing the elemental force churning inside me. There was too much going on here, deep waters I was scared to wade through.
Ignoring him, I went to the drawer and searched for an opener.
Behind me, another drawer opened. A moment later, he appeared beside me, holding out the corkscrew. I took it, keeping my gaze on the bottle as I worked the screw into the cork. Tension vibrated through the cabin until a pop echoed in the silence. I’d spotted glasses in a cupboard earlier and I went towards it.
Jensen beat me to it, reaching up to the tall shelf to hand me a glass.
‘Aren’t you having one?’
Silently, he handed me another glass. ‘I will if you want me to, min elskerinde,’ he murmured, darkened eyes rapt on my face.
He was too much. Everything I was scared to desire.
I poured two glasses, handed him one and downed half the contents of mine.
An expression flitted across his face, too fast for me to decode as he raised his own glass and took a moderate sip. The sight of him, sipping wine while he stood there stark naked, comfortable in his own skin, yet with his eyes a little troubled as he stared at me, made me want to laugh. Or scream. Or hide.
From the first moment I’d laid eyes on him, he’d commanded extreme emotions from me. As if he were the Dominant.
Topping from the fucking bottom.
Well, if he wanted personal, he was about to get it.
I forced a shrug. ‘No need to go on an extended expedition. I’m everything the media proclaims me to be. Spoilt. Rich. Some would even label me a ball-breaking bitch.’
A smile ghosted over
