Carol had told her the menu. Fillet steaks that Belle was to grill then sprinkle with Stilton to melt onto the meat. Baby new potatoes, carrots and fresh petit pois for the boil. Fresh baked rolls from the bakery down the street to complete the main meal. Pudding was a tarte tatin, also from the bakery down the street, for Belle to heat and serve with famous Cornish clotted cream.
Belle would have preferred to make everything herself, including the rolls and the tarte, but she didn’t have time. Instead, she did the limited prep work, put the water on to boil, the oven on to heat the grill and was setting the table when Jack arrived in the kitchen.
She looked up from the table, still placing a knife in its spot.
“Did you see them all?” she asked and his eyes moved around the walls in the kitchen. “I don’t keep any in here. Too much moisture,” Belle informed him.
“Of course,” he muttered.
“Did you see them?” she asked, straightening.
His eyes came to her. “I saw them.”
“Aren’t they beautiful?” Belle queried softly.
He watched her a moment then he replied, “I was wrong yesterday. Your grandmother doesn’t love you.” Belle felt her brows draw together in confusion before he went on, “Those pictures, pictures she painted for you, there aren’t words to describe that kind of love.”
Belle stared at his beautiful face as her mind finally caught on.
She knew.
She knew.
She knew anyone who would understand the hidden meaning behind her grandmother’s paintings was someone who would never hurt her.
Someone she could trust.
Someone who would keep her safe.
And she also knew what she had to do.
That didn’t mean she wasn’t terrified out of her skull.
But that didn’t stop her from walking to the oven, turning off the stove, flipping off the grill and then walking to Jack.
She again took his hand and guided him down the two steps to the landing then up the two steps to the hall.
“Belle,” he said behind her but she turned right to her bedroom.
She dropped his hand just inside the door but walked in further and turned.
Looking in his eyes, she flipped off her shoes and crossed her trembling hands in front of her, grabbing her dress.
“Belle,” he said her name again. It was deeper this time, husky and rough but she didn’t see him because she was pulling her dress up over her head and then off.
She’d barely got her arms free, she definitely didn’t get a chance to focus on him but he was right there, she felt his hands at her bottom and she was going up.
She dropped her dress, wrapped her arms around his neck, her legs around his h*ps and she was turned, moved and then falling backward to the bed.
It started wild and out-of-control and neither Belle nor Jack did anything to stop it.
He had her out of her underwear and him out of his clothes before she could whisper, “oh” (which she did).
Then she pushed him to his back, her mouth on him, lips brushing, tongue tasting, her body igniting as she worked her way down his broad chest, over his planes and angles of his belly and lower, her hand moving to wrap around his hardness, her thumb lightly rolling over the tip.
That was all she got.
He flipped her to the back and did the same thing down her chest and rounded belly, until his mouth was between her legs.