Rock Me Faster (Licks of Leather #4) - Jenna Jacob Page 0,43
Rosner.”
Yes, because it was beneath her to serve herself, let alone her guests.
“Your house is very beautiful, Mrs. Walker.”
That’s it, princess. Don’t let her get under your skin. You’re doing fine.
“It’s not a house, dear. It’s a penthouse. And yes, I know. I hired the finest decorators
in the world to create this masterpiece of interior excellence,” Sylvia bragged
As I slid a glass of bubbly into Harmony’s hand, I brushed my fingers over hers and flashed her a wink of encouragement. She graced me with a wide smile that filled me with peace—at least temporarily.
When I presented a flute to my mother, she moved in on the other side of me and leaned in close to my ear. “Honestly, Rosner. I never would have pictured you with a…hillbilly. Tell me, did you find her in a personals ad in the back of a hunting magazine?”
I clenched my jaw, praying that Harmony hadn’t heard the snarky comment.
“Remember, you can take a girl out of the woods,” Sylvia continued, “even squeeze her into a Chanel dress, but you’ll never squeeze the woods out of the girl. She’s after your money, darling.”
“If you invited us here to sling nasty insults, we’ll be happy to leave.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Sylvia waved my threat away while keeping a critical eye on the hired help filling the water glasses at the dining table. “Dinner will be served any moment.”
“Then keep your ugly comments to yourself,” I growled, glaring in her evil eyes.
A snide laugh bubbled in the back of her throat. Clearly, she was delighted that she’d gotten a rise out of me. Little did Sylvia know, I’d be the one getting the last laugh.
“Attention, everyone, my creation is complete,” Sebastian announced.
Balancing three plates in his hand and one on his arm, the fifty-something chef donning in a spotless apron and tall white toque waddled to the dining table. After placing each elegantly crafted entrée on the stark white linen tablecloth, he backed away and flashed a triumphant smile.
“Oh, Bass,” Sylvia gushed, ushering us to the table. “It looks simply scrumptious. What decadent delicacies have you designed, darling?”
“Tonight, I have prepared for you fillet of veal stuffed with wild rice, butternut squash, and topped with a silky, hazelnut puree. On the side is a caramelized sweet potato flambé and grilled baby portobellos infused with a savory, obscenely priced wine.”
“Exquisite. It looks divine.” Sylvia applauded before she sent the man a condescending smile. “That will be all, Sebastian.”
Priceless. Even a world-famous, Michelin-star chef wasn’t worthy of gracing Sylvia’s table since she’d hired him for services rendered. Life threw many curveballs, but one constant remained—my mother’s arrogant, entitled attitude.
“Bon appetite.” Sebastian benevolently accepted her snub and bowed before waddling through the door and back into the kitchen.
Instead of waiting for Mother to take the first bite of the meal, like I’d been trained as a child, I dug right in…sawed off a hunk of veal and popped it into my mouth. With an indignant huff, Sylvia plucked up her knife and fork. Harmony followed suit, and I watched as she placed the first bite of tender beef on her tongue. When she closed her eyes and moaned, my cock woke, stretching and eager to make her scream.
“Oh, my goodness,” she groaned. “This is… It’s delicious.”
“Of course. Sebastian is a pro.” Sylvia arched a brow. “Tell me, darling, what does one do in Kentucky?”
I open my mouth to intervene when Harmony gave a little shake of her head. The twinkle in her eyes screamed, I got this.
“I can’t speak for what others do, but I live on a secluded mountain and work hard to maintain an ecovillage with a large group of people.”
What the fuck is an ecovillage?
“I’ve never heard the term…ecovillage. What exactly is that?” Sylvia asked.
I was dying to know as well.
“Some people refer to it as a…commune. But it’s far more than that,” Harmony replied proudly.
What. The. Actual. Fuck?
As Sylvia snapped her head my way, I schooled the shock charging my system, as well as the million questions pinging my brain, and met my mother’s horrified, gaping stare with a smirk.
“You…you brought a hippy into my home…my…my sanctuary?” she shrieked.
A dared a glance at Harmony, who was trying to bite back a mischievous smile.
If she’d made up the story to rattle Sylvia’s cage, way to go, princess.
On the other hand, if Harmony actually did live in a commune on a mountain, it explained why she’d never heard of our band or our music. Never attended a concert, eaten