Always Wrong - Xyla Turner Page 0,28

smirk.

“You’re supposed to be resting, not turning me on,” I called to her, as I remained in the front observing her in my space.

It was natural. Almost too comfortable, as if it was déjà vu again. My mother always believed that déjà vu was God’s way of letting you know you were on the right track. I tended to believe it as well, so when Sheryl did that half turn with an upturn of the corner of her lips, my heart skipped one beat. It was just one, but also confirmed that the route we were headed was a good one.

“Where can I freshen up?” she asked me, looking around.

“Let me show you,” I instructed before picking her bags back up and tilting my head so she’d follow me.

Once we stepped into my suite, I shared that she could use the master bathroom as I placed her bags on her side of the bed.

“I’ll be downstairs,” I called to her retreating form as the door of the restroom closed.

“Okay,” she yelled back.

I took the time to catch up on some work, and two hours later, there was no Sheryl. Calling her name yielded no response, but eventually I walked in the bedroom and saw her lying across it in a towel that barely covered her mid-thigh. Quiet snores escaped through her nose, and for some reason, she looked perfect in the space. Not just because she was asleep, but it looked as if she was supposed to be there.

Moving toward the bed, I covered her with the blanket from the corner of the side she was sleeping on and then went downstairs to begin my preparations for the evening. She and I were supposed to go out for dinner, but I decided it would be good to cook, stay in and have a night for ourselves. God knows, I couldn’t wait to ravish her later. She was not ovulating, but I didn’t quite give a fuck anyway.

Quickly, I ordered whatever groceries were missing and began to cook while playing soft classical music. The sun was beginning to set, casting a glow in the condominium that was perfect for a photoshoot. This was why I’d purchased the place. Sitting on my deck or just in the sitting room reading to watch the sun set was amazing. That sort of scenery I wanted my mother to experience. She wouldn’t leave New York though.

Almost as I finished making the food, I heard soft footsteps on the stairs, and then Sheryl appeared, looking a bit dazed. Without a thought or even a moment to process, I laughed, went to her, and pulled the woman into my chest to kiss her forehead.

“You look like you’re a zombie and trying to figure out life right now.” I was still laughing.

“I was so freaked out.” She looked up at me with that same dazed but cute look.

I leaned down to kiss her lips and asked, “Are you hungry?”

“Famished.” She nodded. “Did you cook?”

“Yes, luv,” I replied. “I did.”

One of her eyebrows lifted in surprise, but I simply led her to the dining table.

“Sit and I’ll be right out with our meal,” I instructed.

After bringing everything out, the two of us piled food on our plates and in the beginning, we ate in silence. Well, not completely, Sheryl would moan here and there when she especially liked the food. Then we began to talk about where I learned how to cook and why was I hiding my talent. Once I explained some of my mom’s story, but just the part where it was just her and me I had to learn how to cook.

Essentially, I had been living alone for a while, therefore eating out wasn’t always the healthier option. Plus, as I traveled, I would pick up something here or there that I incorporated into my repertoire. Then she talked about her cooking skills, or lack thereof. Her preferences were for movies and television series versus going to the opera or Broadway. What her favorite foods were and her ideal vehicle. Places she’d been and wanted to travel to, along with business venues she still wanted to pursue.

It was an informative conversation and caused me to see the intelligent woman in a different light and on a deeper level.

Chapter Ten

Jacquez Costa

Sheryl was hiding something, and I wasn’t sure what. Either she was getting cold feet or she was rethinking our agreement. Bloody hell, I didn’t know what to fucking believe. We’d been seeing each other every two