“Uh, um, uh.” In a moment she’d be drooling in a corner and babbling nonsensical words if she didn’t get a grip. “Well, that’s one way to do it. But still, it’s December! You should put something on to cover up.”
She didn’t dare mention that her insisting that he cover up might have something more to do with her current vow of relationship abstinence and her certainty that nothing about Adrian was going to involve Emma or her newly-overheated libido, so why start any engines purring in the first place? She did wonder if it might be okay to just reach out and pet his chest, pretending it was a little kitten or something innocuous. Just for a minute.
“I’m perfectly fine as is, thanks.” Adrian smiled as Emma squirmed.
“Well, great.” She sighed. This was going to take some inner discipline to ignore. Make that he was going to take some inner discipline to ignore. “But why don’t you at least spare those pants. She doubled back the apron so that only the lower half was showing, held it up to his waist and burst out laughing. “Oh God, I would love to have a picture of this.”
Adrian looked down to see nothing but David’s well-endowed endowment placed strategically over his own. It was his turn to squirm. “Really? Must I?”
Emma laughed. “Honey, you most definitely must. I will remember this moment for the rest of my life, so I need to be able to savor it.”
“So glad I can entertain you so readily. Feel free to keep on laughing at my expense.” His good-natured smile was reassuring. “But promise me no pictures. If this ever got out, my mother would kill me. She’s still reeling from Zander’s indiscretion in America.”
Emma couldn’t help but burst out laughing, remembering the images of his brother’s very naked royal arse spread across tabloids worldwide. What mother wouldn’t cringe at that one?
“That mother again, eh? You need to get her under control, my friend! You’re a big boy now. It’s time she recognizes that fact. And I’m sure you’re nothing like your mischievous brother.”
Adrian sighed. “Let’s not go there right now. I’d just as soon not think about my demanding mother and my irresponsible brother if it’s all the same to you. I suppose it’s a good thing I have a few siblings who march in lockstep with my mother, so at least she’s not completely miserable with her offspring.”
Emma handed him some ingredients. “Here. You know how to crack eggs?”
“I’m royal, not stupid. Surely I can figure that out.”
“Seriously, you’ve never cracked an egg before? This should be amusing. Go ahead and break them into this.” She handed him a bowl, then held up a wire implement on a handle. “This is called a whisk. You’re gonna use it to whip them up well, like this, and then you’re going to add milk till I tell you it’s enough.” As he cracked and whisked, she tossed in some salt and pepper to season the mixture.
Emma took another look at the David apron and started laughing again. “It’s a good thing I don’t have any coffee in my mouth or I’d have spit it all over the kitchen.”
“Coffee? Is it a possibility?” He got down on his knees and held his hands up in mock prayer.
“Ah, I love a man who begs. It’s my Kryptonite. Your wish is my command.”
She pulled the coffee machine out from a cabinet and set it on the counter, rifled through a drawer till she found the coffee capsules. “Now I know this newfangled thing might be foreign to you, since Jeeves probably brings your coffee piping hot in china cups. But this is how the rest of the world gets their morning Joe these days.”
“I trust that once we get to know each other better the Little Lord Fauntleroy jokes will let up?”
Emma sighed. “Darn it! I promised I’d stop, didn't I?” Adrian arched an eyebrow at her. Which made a hank of hair drift down toward his eye, lending him a boyish charm. Curse him.
“I know, I know. Not like you’re making cracks about my mediocre suburban existence back at me. Why is it fair for me to use your heritage to take swipes at you?”
“Now that you mention it...”
She grabbed the whisk from the egg bowl, and held it up like she was taking a vow. Or was pretending to be the Statue of Liberty. “I do hereby declare that I, Emma Leigh Davison, do solemnly swear to stop riding your ass.” She burst out laughing, wiping a drip of egg that fell off the whisk onto her arm. “I bet you’re not used to vulgarity in royal protocol.”
“There are a whole lot of things I’m not quite used to that I think I’d better just start expecting.”
“The lesson of every captive: the sooner you accept that resistance is futile, the better. Now, to make the coffee: first you fill up the water reservoir, then you take this thingy here,” she said, holding up the small canister containing the ground coffee, “and you stick it in here.” She popped it into its holder. “You pull this lever down, it punctures holes into the coffee thingamajiggie, you press ‘start’ and ta-da!”
A minute later she handed him a steaming mug of coffee that smelled divine.
“Now that’s the best application of inserting tab A into slot B I think I’ve ever seen,” Adrian said, then squinted his eyes, reconsidering. “Make that second best.”
He winked at Emma and she was certain she blushed from her toes to her scalp. She squirmed, completely unsure how to divert his attention from the insertion of various tabs into slots. Must. Change. Subject. Now.
“I’ve got all sorts of modern-day wonders for you, my friend. Strap on your seatbelt. You’re about to learn how to be an average person.” Strap on? What the hell, Emma!
Adrian squinted his eyes at Emma. “Should I be scared?”
“Beyond the shadow of a doubt,” she said, laughing. “I’m going to teach you how to be one of the rabble. First off, how to cook. You did quite well with your egg whisking. Don’t think I didn’t notice the wrist action. You’ve got a natural gift. For lesson two we’ll move onto chopping. If you’ll grab that cutting board over there, I’ll get the knife and demonstrate how you’re going to cut these veggies. But before that, we need to deal with our bacon.”
She made a mental note to dope slap herself for that idiotic wrist action comment.
Emma pulled out a cookie sheet and lined it with foil from a nearby drawer.
“First, you line the pan with foil. I hate cleaning up grease, so the less the better,” she said, cutting open the package. “Next you’re going to take these slimy strips,” she said, pointing to the raw bacon, “and lay them out side by side on the pan.”
Adrian grimaced as if she was expecting him to conduct abdominal surgery. “I have to put my hands on that?”
“It’s surprisingly satisfying. Trust me.”
He reached down and grabbed a piece, which stretched as he pulled it. “It’s gooey!” he said, surprised. “But I sort of I like it!”
“See, I told you. Brings out the animal in you.” She winked at him. “Sometimes I like to top it with some brown sugar and cracked pepper to give it a little sweet, savory, spicy flavor, but today we’ll aim for simplicity.” Yeah, right. Simplicity while she was trying hard not to stare at his terribly tempting and very bare chest just inches away from her longing eyes and idle fingers. Making it all the more complicated, dammit.
“You like it hot?”
Emma blanched.
“Er, um, let’s just say they don’t call me Tepid Tammy for nothing.” Emma looked away and pinched the bridge of her nose, instantly embarrassed by his inference and her incredibly stupid reply. Something about this guy constantly elicited the daft in her. Tepid Tammy? What is wrong with you, girl?
Adrian knit his brows, looking like he hadn’t a clue what the hell she was saying.
When they finished the tray, she opened the oven door and put it in. “We set it to four hundred degrees — don’t even ask me to convert that to Celsius for when you need to make this back at the palace. Get the palace chef to do it for you. Then, set the timer for fifteen minutes and we’ll be golden. Next, onto our veggies.”
Sh
e rinsed a pepper and a tomato and grabbed a shallot from a bowl on the counter, and placed the pepper on the cutting board.
She demonstrated how to dice the pepper and handed the duties to Adrian, who had all the cutting skills of a medieval surgeon.
“Hmm, that won’t do,” Emma said as she watched him have a near-miss on a flesh wound with the blade. “Let me help with that.” She came up behind him, reaching around on either side, placing her hands atop his, showing the proper positioning, where the knife should go, how to protect his fingers. She pretended she didn’t notice his warm skin as she pressed up against his shirtless back. Or the unmistakable lingering aroma of some spicy aftershave her nose couldn’t quite pinpoint but wanted to keep sniffing until it did.
“Can’t have that finger whacked off,” she said, hoping she wasn’t panting like a dog in heat. “Or else your shiny gold ring would have no home.” She pointed to a beautiful ring encrusted with tiny gemstones resting on his wedding ring finger. “And please don’t tell me you’re secretly married and your mother is suggesting you ditch wife number one for this Serena chick.”
“Oh, that,” he said. “It’s the royal seal, my family crest, which in my country we wear on this finger. I suppose I should have given that to Darcy to mind while I’m gone. I was in such a hurry it didn’t even cross my mind.”
“It’s very beautiful,” Emma said, admiring the tiny, glittering sapphires, emeralds and diamonds that surrounded his family’s emblem. “To tell the truth, I’m glad you’re not married. I mean, not that I care if you’re married. I just mean I’m glad I won’t have an angry wife breathing down my neck alongside your bossy mother. Which is not to say your mother’s bossy. I don’t even know her. I’m just going by what you’ve said. Though I know it’s rude to say things like that about someone’s relative. I have a friend who got in a fight with her husband and bad-mouthed him and then I agreed and she got so mad at me for saying he was selfish, even though she’d just said he was selfish! So I take that back, you’re mother isn’t bossy at all. Although maybe she is since she’s trying to force you to marry an awful woman, but I won’t say that.”
Adrian stared wide-eyed at her and burst into laughter. “Do you always babble so much? I suspect I’ll never have to ask you if the cat’s got your tongue. I’m sure your mouth won’t slow down enough for any feline to catch it.”
Emma felt her face heat up to at least a sriracha hot sauce level, if not that of a burning habanero or ghost pepper. “God, I’m such a doofus,” she said. “Sometimes I get diarrhea of the mouth. Though that’s probably not a great term to discuss while preparing breakfast, in mixed company, no less. Or should I say mixed royal company. Because I have one or two guy friends I’d be perfectly fine blathering on about diarrhea of the mouth with, but not with you.” Ohmigod, Emma, shut up. “Let’s get back to that ring of yours. I can’t imagine having a family crest. Or a seal for that matter. Hell, I’d settle for the kind of seal that barks and swims with flippers. That would be kind of fun to have around. Though it wouldn’t fit well on my finger. Plus I’d need a bigger bathtub.”
Adrian turned to look over his shoulder at her, causing her to have even more contact with his bare skin. Argh! “Your mind does take strange turns, doesn’t it?”
Emma blushed. “I have been known to go off on a tangent or two along the way, I suppose.” Of course the tangent she’d opt for now would be maybe licking a path along his strong back, all the way around to that beautiful chest. Then while she was at it, following that tempting happy trail on his belly right on down south...
“I’m beginning to learn that the diversions are half the fun with you.”
Speaking of diversions... If he only knew where my thoughts were taking me right now.
“A barrel full of monkeys, I am,” she said, scratching her armpit and hooting like a monkey, desperate to divert the conversation away from its inevitable direction.
Adrian’s eyes grew wide. “Perhaps we should get back to chopping?”
“Stick in the mud,” she said, grumbling.
She reached around him again, breathing in the scent of him, realizing she hadn’t smelled a man this close in forever. And that she needed to dismiss that thought immediately, so instead she focused on demonstrating the rocking motion the knife should make with her hand, nestling closer to him to have a good handle on the vegetable. And grateful she wasn’t demonstrating what to do with a cucumber, at least.
Suddenly she was acutely aware of his breath, moving in sync with her own, as if they were one. With her soft and shapely parts matching up a bit too comfortably with his solid, very male parts. For a minute she wondered what would happen if she reached around right there, in that perfect spot, just to see if he was feeling it as much as she was. But no, that would be such a bad idea, what with her kinda sorta chastity vow and renouncing all men and plus having nothing in common with someone of his ilk.
Although the word “ilk” seems a little lowbrow in reference to royalty. Though lowbrow was in keeping with where her thoughts were going anyhow, considering she kept pondering reaching down to see if he was as turned on as she was. I am human, after all. It’s a natural reaction to do that. After all, a man, a woman, alone. Throw in some food. I mean, we’re hungry. It’s the empty stomach talking, I know it. It’s not the empty heart. It’s not. Only she didn’t just mutter it in her mind, that last part, she said it loud enough for Adrian to hear her.
“Empty heart?” he asked.
“Heart? No, not heart. I said part. I was just talking about this bowl over here, it’s empty. The empty part, that’s where you’ll put those shallots.”
Lord, she needed a class on self-editing.
They finished their chopping in relative quiet, and Emma assembled her raw ingredients to complete the omelets.
“So you heat up this pan, drizzling a little bacon grease on it for added flavor,” she said, rolling the grease around to lubricate the pan. “And then you pour your egg mixture here, spread it around, then put the sautéed veggies on top of it, and cover with a thin layer of cheddar cheese, like so.”
Adrian watched, mesmerized, as the omelet sizzled in the pan.
“You act as if this is the first time you’ve ever cooked anything,” she said.
“Would I betray myself as a spoiled rich boy if I admitted it was?” he asked, feeling a bit sheepish. “It must sound somewhat pathetic that I’ve hardly stepped foot in a kitchen, doesn’t it?”
Emma turned around to face Adrian. “A culinary virgin, huh? Pathetic? Not at all. It's what you know. Why would you have done so? There was no need. Besides which, the kitchen was probably nowhere near your living quarters, I’m guessing.”
He laughed. “I am further ashamed to tell you I wasn’t particularly concerned about where in the palace the kitchen facilities were located, as long as good food showed up on my plate. I feel a bit out of touch with reality to admit that.”
Emma put her hands on either of his shoulders. “Look, Adrian. We all come to the table with our strengths and weaknesses. So you can’t cook. No big deal. We can easily rectify that. At least you’re willing to give it a try; that’s not such a bad thing, right?”
He shrugged. “Slight concession, but I’ll take your pity vote if you’re willing to give it to me.”
Emma grabbed the handle of the frying pan and with a rubber spatula, deftly turned over one side of the omelet, then flipped it. “Voila!” She said, glad she didn’t drop the thing in a heap on the floor.
“Bravo!” Adrian clapped, impressed at her culinary prowess. “I’ve never seen something so entertaining before!”
“Oh, please,” she said. “I’m pretty sure whatever royal entertainment you’ve had over the years eclipses a little omelet showmanship. Even if I am pretty darned masterful at it.” She mockingly buffed her nails on her shirt, as if she was a pro.
“I don’t care what you say,” he said. “That was terribly impressive.”
Emma slid
the omelet onto his plate and gave him several strips of bacon. She made quick work of the rest of the ingredients and served herself.
“Now, to top it off.”
She pulled out a carton of orange juice from the fridge that mercifully hadn’t expired yet, then walked over to her parents’ wine rack in the dining room and helped herself to a bottle of Prosecco.
“Sir, if you’ll do the honors.”
“Now this I have some skill with,” Adrian said, removing the foil cover and wire basket from the head of the bottle and popping the cork. “Thank goodness I didn’t just shoot that into your eye.”
“I have faith that one thing you’ve mastered is cracking open a little bubbly. Granted, this isn’t vintage Dom Perignon, but mixed with a little orange juice it’s a perfect addition to our brunch.”
She handed him two champagne flutes to fill with the Prosecco, and she topped them off with juice. “To adventure,” she said, clinking her glass with Adrian’s.
“And to my gracious hostess. Thank you for saving me from a fate worse than death,” he said, tipping his glass to hers yet again. “At least for the time being.”
They sat down at the tiny dining room table off the kitchen.
“As my grandmother used to say before each meal here, enjoy your vittles,” Emma said, laughing. “Before you even ask, it’s a country term for food. Not that my grandma was a country gal, she wasn’t. She just loved The Beverly Hillbillies.”
Adrian raised his eyebrow.
“Of course you wouldn’t know that cultural touchstone. Television, from back in the dark ages. Just know that it’s a classic, and if you’re lucky maybe we’ll watch some this week on Nickelodeon.”
Something in the Heir (It's Reigning Men, #1) Page 5
