“Why are you asking that?” he questions, walking toward me.
“I don’t know how much DNA is on the floor, and my heels are killing me,” I tell him as he takes the bags from my hands.
“DNA?” He frowns, placing the bags on the coffee table, then turns toward me crossing his arms over his chest. I notice that while I was gone, he lost his tie and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt, exposing his tan neck.
“Well, a group of women—who obviously don’t understand that it’s called Victoria’s Secret for a reason—are downstairs. They’re asking to come up to play with you, because their friend was up here a couple weeks ago, and now they want to see if it’s all hype.”
“Jesus,” he mutters, rubbing his jaw and looking toward the door like he expects them to break it down.
“Don’t worry, Zack is down there standing guard. But can I take my shoes off, or should I leave them on?”
“Take off your damn shoes, Mags,” he prowls past me to the door, slamming it behind him as he leaves.
“Alrighty then,” I mumble to the empty office as I kick off my shoes off by the door. Going to the couch, I pause and then turn around, going to the bathroom I grab the can of Lysol to spray the couch and the floor.
“What the hell are you doing?” Sven asks, making me jump. I was so caught up in disinfecting that I didn’t even hear him come in.
“Disinfecting,” I tell him with a wave of the Lysol can, which he grabs away from me and takes back to the bathroom, coming back a second later looking annoyed as he waves his hand in front of his face. “If you want, I can leave for a little while and come back when you’re done with playtime and in a better mood,” I offer, watching as a smile twitches his lips.
“Stop being a smartass and feed me,” he mutters, unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirt and rolling them up, giving me a glimpse at tattoos I never would have guessed he had. “Earth to Mags.”
Untying the bow at my neck that has suddenly gotten too tight, I take a seat on the couch, noticing he hasn’t moved.
“Do you have drinks? I didn’t even think about ordering any,” I add, ignoring whatever look it is he’s giving me.
“What would you like?” he asks gruffly before clearing his throat.
“Do you have any juice?” I question as I pull the food out of the bag and set it on the coffee table.
“Sure.” He grabs two bottles of orange juice from the fridge then takes a seat next to me on the couch. “What did you order?” he asks, opening the Styrofoam containers and sniffing the contents.
“Vegetable korma, tikka masala, and cheese nan,” I say as I hand him a napkin and a fork. Then, I dish out rice on two plates and hand him one.
“Where’s the meat?” he questions with a frown as I add vegetable korma to my plate.
“You said you would eat what I was eating,” I remind him, taking the plate I handed him out of his hand, spooning out the tikka masala onto the rice, and then handing it back to him.
“Is this tofu?” He pokes one of the chunks of tofu with his fork while his face scrunches up like a little boy who was told he had to eat his vegetables.
“It’s good. Try it,” I encourage him while scooping up some with my fork and holding it near his mouth like I used to do with the kids I babysat.
“Are you seriously trying to feed me right now?” he asks as his eyes shine with amusement.
“Sorry,” I mumble, and begin to pull away the fork, but before I can, his mouth closes around the fork and my eyes lock onto his lips, feeling my core clench. I watch him chew, and then laugh when he grimaces.
“That’s awful.”
“Try this.” I scoop up some of the korma from my plate and hold it out toward him. This time, his eyes lock on mine as his mouth closes around the fork. The look in their blue-green depths has my pulse singing in my ears. Swallowing, I pull the utensil away then drop my eyes from his to his mouth.
“Better,” he says roughly as his warm hand comes up and wraps around my lower jaw. Startled, my gaze meets his for a moment before his eyes drop to my mouth and he begins to lean in.
“Let’s eat before it gets cold,” I blurt, turning my head so his hand is forced to let me go. “You can have this, since you don’t like the tikka,” I tell him, handing him my plate and fork and taking his off his lap while avoiding looking at him. Settling back into the couch, I stuff my mouth with a piece of nan and chew slowly so I don’t do something absolutely dumb, like push him back onto the couch, rip off his shirt, and see if he’s hiding anymore tattoos.
“So either you’re a vegetarian, or you’re testing me,” he says, and I chew then swallow before looking at him.
“I’m a vegetarian,” I agree, watching him sit back and place his ankle to his knee.
“Why?”
“Why what?” I frown.
“Why are you a vegetarian?”
“It’s just something I’ve always done. My parents are vegetarians, and they raised me to be one.”
“Have you ever tried meat?”
“Once, when I was in high school. There was never much on the lunch menu for vegetarians. I’m a big girl and was starving to death most days, so I attempted to eat meatloaf. That was the first…and last time,” I add with a smile as his eyes rake over me.
“You’re not big,” he states, almost like he’s offended on my behalf.