The Vessel - Jenika Snow Page 0,22

No frozen heat-and-eat items here.

My stomach growled as my hunger took over. Aside from bringing home meals that Roberto cooked, and my once-a-week family dinners with my aunt and mother, my dinners usually consisted of either bologna and cheese slapped between two piece of cheap white bread or a grilled peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Because by the time I got home, I was too tired and lazy to really want to cook anything substantial, and besides, it was just me, so who was I going to prepare a big meal for?

I watched Lucius as he picked up his wine glass and took a drink, and I never imagined watching a man drink from such a dainty glass could be so attractive, or watching the way his throat worked as he swallowed the alcohol could be such a turn-on. But here I was, clenching my thighs together, because the very sight of Lucius had my entire body heating in awareness.

“Eat, Elise,” he said gently, not in an ordering, dominant manner. “I want you to enjoy it while it’s hot.”

I gave him a grateful smile and pushed all my insecurities and uncertainty of the situation aside as I ate.

For the first five minutes or so, we didn’t really speak, the sound of our silverware clanking against the plates and salad bowls seeming overly loud, but then he started asking me little things. He wanted to know what my favorite color was, my favorite season, what I loved eating for dinner and dessert. It was a little conversation starter, but I appreciated the distraction. And I realized I hadn’t asked him anything, because a part of me thought maybe that would be prying, that if he wanted to tell me anything about himself, then he would’ve interjected it in the conversation.

But he hadn’t given me a morsel of information, so asking him now seemed almost strange. Yet I wanted to know about Lucius, and after taking a long drink of wine, feeling the warmth of the alcohol move through me, I cleared my throat. “What about you?” It was an open-ended question, one where he could answer however he saw fit. But I felt stupid for not specifying. “What do you enjoy doing in your free time?”

He set his fork down and grabbed his linen napkin to wipe his mouth before he leaned back in the chair and gave me a small smile. “You know, no one’s ever asked me that before.”

I felt my heart jump a little at that admission.

“Mainly I just like the quiet. I like to sit in the atrium and read, occasionally watch some sappy movie with a glass of bourbon, the fire roaring, and a bowl of popcorn right out of the microwave.”

I couldn’t help it; I felt one of my eyebrows lift in surprise, and a light chuckle left me. The corner of his mouth kicked up.

“You find that funny?” he asked, and my smile widened. “Let me guess—the bowl of popcorn and sappy movie is what surprises you?”

I lifted my hand and covered my mouth as I chuckled softly, nodding. I felt like an asshole for laughing. But he seemed like the least likely man I’d ever met who would enjoy watching that type of movie.

“I’m sorry,” I finally said after I gathered my composure. “You just don’t seem like the type of guy who’d do all that, popcorn bowl and all.”

He was quiet for a minute and I wondered if I’d offended him. Then he smiled again. “What kind of guy do I seem like, Elise?” He leaned forward and rested his forearms on the table, his focus trained on me.

My cheeks were burning, and I licked my lips nervously. “I guess I see you as a businessman through and through,” I said honestly. “I pictured you with a glass of bourbon in your hand as you watched stock exchanges and news programs.”

He full-out laughed then and gave a nod.

“I do that too, but it’s not for pleasure. My father was like that though. He always had the TV on, flipping through different news programs, business exchange channels, all of that. It’s what I grew up around, so I guess that’s the furthest thing from what I want to do in my downtime.”

I could understand that. It made sense. I didn’t know much about Lucius, but I did know his father recently passed, but I couldn’t gauge if that was hard for him or not.

“I’m sorry about your father,” I said softly, wishing I