The Boy Toy - Nicola Marsh Page 0,29
I ended up falling for him after Mom gave me a none-too-gentle shove in his direction.”
She poured the eggs into the pan, the wooden spoon moving faster now, stirring around and around. “He cheated on me after a year of marriage.”
“Bastard.”
He never understood the whole cheating thing. If you wanted to play the field, why settle down? Easier to stay single than end up hurting someone. The dickhead must’ve been a real prick to do a number on someone like Samira.
“My sentiments exactly.” She switched off the stove and started dishing the fragrant eggs onto two plates. “I blamed Mom a long time for pushing me toward Avi. I’ve avoided Melbourne for that reason. We’re not as close as we once were, but I’m hoping we can get past it this trip.”
Surprised she continued to share private revelations, he asked, “How often do you come home?”
“The last time was five years ago, for my dad’s funeral.”
She handed him a plate, picked up the other, and gestured to the small dining table in the corner. “So now that you know why I prefer to stay single, let’s eat.”
He could’ve left it at that, but he wanted to know more, against his better judgment.
“Sorry about your dad. But one jerk shouldn’t taint your view of relationships.” He picked up his fork and stabbed at a piece of egg. “You’re spectacular and deserve to be happy.”
“Thanks, Dr. Phil,” she said, raising a glass of water in his direction, and he chuckled.
“On that note, I’ll shut my mouth, revert to that silence you love so much, and eat.”
As he lifted the fork to his mouth and got his first taste of Punjabi eggs, he hoped his eyes didn’t roll back in his head. The incredible combination of sautéed onion, tomato, and cilantro along with the eggs and spices burst on his tongue, and he moaned in appreciation.
“This is fantastic,” he said, shoveling another two forkfuls into his mouth in quick succession.
“Tell me something I don’t know.” She smiled at his compliment and proceeded to eat as fast as he did. A woman with healthy appetites. He loved it.
When he regretfully pushed his empty plate away, he patted his stomach. “Thank you. That was absolutely delicious. You’ll have to give me the recipe.”
“Sure.” She winked. “But then I’ll have to kill you, and if I don’t, my mom will.”
“But she’ll never know.”
The cheeky glint in her eyes faded, and he instantly knew he’d said the wrong thing again.
He wasn’t a “meet the parents” type of guy, especially when they weren’t even dating, but by her reaction, he got the distinct impression she was either ashamed of him or had major hang-ups with her mother beyond blaming her for choosing a shitty husband for her.
Inwardly cursing his never-ending ability to get words wrong even when he was so sure they were right, he stood and started clearing the table. As he reached for her plate, she covered his hand with hers.
“Leave it. We can do the dishes later.”
He dragged his gaze from her hand to her eyes, her somberness not encouraging. “Later?”
“Don’t you want seconds?”
“But there aren’t any eggs left—”
“Exactly.”
She stood, intertwined her fingers with his, and eyeballed him with an unspoken challenge he was all too willing to accept as they headed for the bedroom.
Fourteen
This time, when Rory woke in Samira’s bed, he didn’t slink away. Not that he wasn’t tempted, considering she captivated him just as much when she slept, with small puffs of air blowing out of pursed lips and her eyeballs’ rapid movement making her lids quiver, but they’d connected beyond the sex last night when she’d revealed all that stuff about being married, and slipping away would be a shitty thing to do.
But staying around until she woke and agreeing to brunch were poles apart. Saturday mornings were reserved for mega workouts and studying the requirements on stunt jobs for next week. But his schedule was annoyingly clear considering he needed the money, and he could always hit the gym later. Besides, he’d had a good cardio workout several times last night, three to be precise, and there was nothing like sex with Samira to get his heart pumping.
“What are you thinking about?”
He grinned at her from across a small table in an Indian café off the main drag in Dandenong. “Do you really want to know?”
She held up her hand, her eyes glittering with remembrance. “You don’t have to spell it out.”
“Then why did you ask?”
“Because I spent a great