“A test?” I say, knowing his methods all too well. “If you wanted to test me you should have tried with something more than money. I have enough of my own, I don’t need yours.”
“Not a test,” he says, pouting. “I wouldn’t do that to you. I have no need. I couldn’t care less if you had snatched my hand off grabbing the pen. But it is nice to know that you are a woman of substance. A one of a kind.” He holds it back out to me. “Now just sign it and stop making such a big deal out of it.”
“I’ll think about it,” I say again, and he smiles.
“Very well.” He pulls another blue folder out of the basket and holds it out to me. “This one I think you will accept more readily,” he says.
I take it cautiously and place my glass in the grass, as he casually stretches out and props himself up on his elbows, face to the sun. I peer down at him and stretch my legs out so that my feet are by his head. He smiles at me and turns so he can tickle my bare foot, which makes me wiggle my toes. “You have such pretty feet,” he murmurs as I open the file slowly like it is going to bite me.
I squint down at the ancient piece of paper covered carefully in plastic. “Holy crap, CK. Is this what I think it is?”
“Probably, seeing as we are like-minded,” he says absently, as he is still examining my feet and my toes. He starts to suck on them, which is driving me to distraction as I stare at the piece of paper.
“I thought you might like it, considering it is now yours,” he says in between sucks.
I am speechless and still staring into the folder, at the official document from 1539 that stated the change in name from the Norman Castel Gradile to the French Château Cassis. “You kept this even after you sold it?”
“I thought I might have a use for it someday. Turns out I was right.” He is now kissing the tops of my feet and I shiver.
“Thank you,” I say sincerely. “This I will accept without argument. It is very precious and a wonderful gift.”
“Oh, it’s not a gift,” he says as his kisses reach my ankles. “You are going to have to earn it,” he adds wickedly, and I grin.
“Mm, in that case maybe we should take this inside,” I say, closing the folder abruptly.
“Not yet, I like it out here with you. I don’t want to rush things today. We always rush. You said you wanted romantic and I intend to give to you.”
“Making me wait,” I murmur. “No fair.”
“It is as much for my benefit as yours,” he says. “Now you wanted me to remind you to ask me something. What is it?” His attention is still diverted, on my shins now, working his way quickly up to my knees. I remember what I want to ask but I don’t want to spoil the mood.
“It can wait. I am more interested in what you plan on doing once you get passed my knees,” I say, lying back on my elbows so that the expanse of my thighs is now exposed under my tiny skirt.
“I plan on stopping because clearly whatever it is you have to ask me is unpleasant and will ruin the mood,” he says, reading my mind with damn accuracy as usual. He lifts his head and shuffles around, so his head is now in line with mine. “Out with it. Rather now, when the damage can be repaired before our special evening, than later when these things usually crop up and blow everything to Hell and back,” he says it with a smile, but he speaks the truth and I know it as well as he does.
“It’s about Cole,” I say, and he sits up straight, his face going impassive.
“What about him?” he asks shortly.
“He is unhappy with this arrangement. Of me coming here for two days. He wants to find an alternative arrangement.”
“I see,” he says, and I can tell his eyes are hard and cold boring into me even behind his dark lenses. After a few minutes, he says, “There is only one alternative and that is for him to give up and let me have you.”
“That’s not going to happen,” I say quietly.
“End of discussion then.”
“If he is unhappy, it is going to make me unhappy,” I blurt out. “Can’t you be reasonable and help me find another way?”
“Be reasonable?” His eyebrows go up. “I think I am being more than reasonable allowing you to stay married to the man.”
“Allowing me?” I say in disbelief. “How dare you make it sound like you own me.”
“I do own you,” he says heatedly. “You are mine. I made you so you could be with me. Not him and not anybody else.”
I stare at him, dumbfounded. “This is how you think? That you own me because you made me?”
“And this is why I would rather we talked about it now,” he says with his perfected world-weary sigh. “No, Aefre. It isn’t how I think. Not really. I like to convince myself that it is true, that I allow you your own life so that I still feel some sense of control, that I am still the only one who matters to you, regardless of whoever else is in your life.”