accusingly.
“Of course not!” I said. Morticia was still holding the hot frying pan. “I’m obviously going to keep all the art, just spruce it up a bit, you know.”
Her eyes narrowed.
I smiled.
“You know how much I appreciate art,” I said, mind racing to try and convince her that I was totally not going to build a tacky, generic development. “I’m absolutely going to keep the character of the place. In fact, next year during Christmas, I’m going to have the whole place decorated, with a Christmas market featuring local artists and vendors.”
Her face softened slightly. “Good,” she said. “I’m so sick of all these hedge funds coming in, buying up property, then completely erasing the historic character.”
“Not my hedge fund,” I assured her. I stood up and carefully removed the frying pan from her grasp.
She didn’t seem completely convinced.
“Look, don’t even worry about it. Dorothy doesn’t even seem to want to sell to me.” I sighed and set the pan on the stove.
“Why not?” Morticia asked.
“Who knows?” I threw up my hands. “She probably doesn’t trust a billionaire hedge fund manager.”
“Hm,” Morticia said. “Probably smart of her.”
I tried not to feel hurt.
It’s probably for the best that she sees through you. This could have ended badly.
Morticia grinned at me. “I mean, if you can’t even manage to cook bacon, how are you going to create a development?”
“I wasn’t just trying to cook bacon,” I said. “I was trying to make a full English breakfast.”
Morticia wrapped an arm around my neck and reached up to kiss me.
I held her close, deepening the kiss. “I am, of course, open to other suggestions for breakfast,” I purred.
39
Morticia
I snuggled down into the big, comfortable bed. I hadn’t been sleeping much because I was up all night working then doing the bake-off during the day. Being in Jonathan’s bed had been the best sleep I’d had in ages. And of course the happy ending to yesterday’s evening had also helped me fully relax.
Pulling the covers over my head, I tried to go back to sleep. But I was wide-awake and horny. I wanted Jonathan. The taste he had given me the previous night had only awakened my sexual appetite.
However, I needed my camera. What if the first time we had sex ended up being the last time? I couldn’t waste my chance; I needed those pictures. I had my interview with Dorothy today. I was going to ace it. I knew it. I needed that scholarship, though. I was so close!
“Actually…” I said. I pushed Jonathan away, even though everything in me wanted to strip his clothes off, straddle him, and ride his cock into the sunset. “I’m starving. You gave me a bit of a workout.”
“I can give you a better one,” he purred, kissing my neck.
I needed to hold him off a little longer. “Breakfast!” I said loudly, grabbing a can of tomatoes out of the bag. Jonathan blew out a breath.
“Do you need help?”
“That depends…can you slice the blood sausage without cutting yourself?”
Jonathan laughed. “Wait, that wasn’t a joke, was it?”
“Are you a five-year-old?” I asked as Jonathan stared at the blood sausage on his plate. It was good quality. The little card that had come with it said it was from one of the heritage pig farms outside of Harrogate.
“It just doesn’t feel like Christmas to me,” he said. “That feels like something you might eat on Halloween on a dare.”
“It’s good and contains a lot of iron,” I told him. “I would have expected you to be a bit more of an adventurous eater. You have all the money in the world; you can get exotic food delivered.”
He looked at me balefully. “I don’t want people to fuck with my food. I just want to eat it. I’m a meat-and-potatoes guy.”
“And dessert.”
“Yes,” he said. “Speaking of.” He rubbed his hands together. “After my performance last night, will that entitle me to more cinnamon rolls?”
“That is a special-occasion food.”
“Please? They’re haunting my dreams,” he said, shaking me slightly.
I narrowed my eyes. “Eat all the blood sausage without making weird faces, and I’ll think about it.”
He scowled slightly.
“Your face is going to stick like that,” I teased.
He grinned at me.
“How badly do you want those cinnamon rolls?” I teased back. I cut off a small piece of the blood sausage along with a scoop of beans, tomatoes, and fried mushroom. “Open up!” I said, slipping the fork into his mouth.
He chewed. “That was actually pretty good.”
“It’s earthy and strong,” I said, taking