Page 5 of Rules Of Engagement: St. Louis (In The Heart of A Valentine #17)

Chapter

Two

CHRISTIAN

The scent of lemongrass and ginger had already soaked into my shirt by the time I turned off the heat. I should’ve let the rice sit a little longer, but I’d been stirring out of habit.

It was a special night after all. Not a holiday, or an extended celebration of my Davidson Deal win, but… a Wednesday.

There was no text from her yet, and no confirmation that she was coming. But that wasn’t unusual. Naomi never confirmed. She didn’t have to. Our Wednesdays were sacred, with carved-out consistency that never needed a reminder. She chose it that way, and I let her.

It had been eleven and a half months since Naomi Blackford had looked at me across that wine bar, her brown eyes steady and direct, making an offer that had sounded like freedom at the time.

“No explanations about what we need or why we need it. No expectations beyond what we want in that moment. No complications from the outside world.”

I could still hear her voice, low and confident, the way it wrapped around those words like a séance.

And six months since we’d agreed to make this house, not quite a home, but a stay if you will.

Our mutual space, where I’d had the honor to be her listening ear.

It had brought me closer to her individuality and the powerhouse she was in business, and I had never been more impressed by another woman like I was her.

Back when we’d met, that arrangement was a gift. It was connection without consequence, pleasure without pressure. But tonight, as I seasoned the shrimp with paprika and garlic, I knew I wanted more.

The kitchen filled with the aroma of sautéing garlic and butter as I heated the pan.

My hands moved through the motions, chopping cilantro, measuring coconut milk, checking the rice.

Cooking had always been my meditation, keeping my mind grounded and quiet after hours of contract negotiations and international calls.

But lately, even this ritual filled my mind with thoughts of her.

I imagined Naomi tasting the lime I’d squeeze over the finished dish, the way she’d scrunch her nose and tell me it was “too much citrus”while that smile played at the corners of her mouth, because she loved it anyway.

My phone buzzed against the granite countertop. Dahlia, my personal assistants name, flashed across the screen.

“Christian Valentine,”I answered, with the phone pressed between my shoulder and ear as I stirred the simmering coconut sauce.

“I’m calling to confirm that tomorrow’s contracts are ready for your review,”Dahlia said, warmly. “Also, I could swing by tonight if you need anything before the Henderson meeting.”

Dahlia had been extending a lot of invitations wrapped as professional courtesy. And maybe that was all it was, however, it always felt like more.

“I appreciate you, but I’m good. Get some rest.”

“Are you sure? I could bring dinner.”

“I’m certain. See you tomorrow.”

I ended the call and set the phone aside, focusing on the gentle bubble of coconut milk in the pan. Dahlia was brilliant, beautiful, available—everything that could interest a man. But still, I wasn’t interested, and she was my employee.

The silence that followed was thicker, pressing against the walls of the space that had become less about convenience and more about a life I dreamed for that didn’t exist.

The orange fall evening shimmered through the floor-to-ceiling windows, painting everything in warm tones.

By the time Naomi entered, I’d dimmed the lights to that golden amber she preferred and set two plates on the dining table.

I didn’t have to turn around to know it was her.

I felt it in the quiet shift of the air.

“You cooked,” she said, from the entryway, her voice cool, and amused. “It smells delicious.”The soft click of heels against the hardwood made my anticipation for her rise.

I turned from the stove, and there she was, flawless as always in a navy bandage dress that hugged her body exposing her curves and driving heat straight to my dick.

Her brown skin seemed to absorb the ambient light.

The scent of peach and grape followed her, mixed with another perfume that lay underneath.

Her makeup was soft, with neutral tones that made her eyes sharper. Everything about Naomi was styled and organized, from her diamond stud earrings to the silk knot at her nape. Even her silence was curated.

“There’s my beautiful girl.”

She smirked and sauntered closer.

“It’s spicy coconut shrimp,”I said, serving the mixture over jasmine rice. “With extra lime.”

Naomi laughed. It was that soft, musical sound that made my dick harder. “You’re trying to kill my taste buds.”

“I’m trying to feed you properly.”I handed her a glass of wine, our fingers brushing as she accepted it. The contact kindled the heat on my skin, and I sucked in an inaudible breath. Our eyes connected and neither of us moved away.

She took a sip, her full lips leaving the faintest trace of neutral lipstick on the rim. “Cooking on a Wednesday. That’s becoming routine for you.”

We both knew our usual routine involved takeout containers and conversation before we moved to more teasing activities. But I’d enjoyed feeding her the first time I decided to cook a few months ago and now it was becoming a habit.

“I thought we could try something different.”

“Different?”

“The idea was to fill your belly with food as much as my dick wants to.”

A blush darkened her cheeks as a crimson hue settled there. She attempted to suppress a smile, but I saw it shine through.

“Clever words.”

“I only settled for the truth. Should I have gone for subtly?”

“No. I like you just how you are.”

My nostrils flared and I swallowed my next thoughts, deciding to move to safer grounds. The last thing I wanted to do was run Naomi off with offers of breaking our currently agreement and moving to more meaningful arrangements. So for now, I let it rest.

She moved past me, and it was the first time I noticed the small bag in her other hand. Sauntering to the kitchen counter, Naomi lifted the bag, removed spices, and added them to the spice rack.

I arched a brow. This was an interesting development. Without a word she finished up then we settled at the table with the food steaming between us. Naomi rested her cheek against her palm, watching me with those sharp brown eyes that showed up in my dreams.

“How was your day?”I asked, cutting into the tender shrimp.

“It was productive.”She forked a piece of rice and slipped the food inside her mouth. “How was yours?”

“I closed the Davidson deal.”

Her eyes brightened. “And did you get all of your terms met?”

“I did.”

Pride flourished across her face. “Congratulations.”She raised her wine glass in a toast. “To another victory for the unstoppable Christian Valentine.”

I was used to my recognitions being celebrated by family and friends – but there hadn’t been a special someone in my life to celebrate with. That was on me, but it didn’t make the want of that being her any less prevalent.

“Thank you, Naomi. It was a long time coming and worth the tedious negotiations.”

“I bet. You should be celebrating.”

“I am.”

“When?”

“Now. With you.”

Her deep throaty laugh revved my libido.

“This is a normal Wednesday. Not much of a celebration.”

“All of our Wednesdays are a celebration to me.”

I held her gaze in silence as my words sunk in. A quick smile, then she took a swig of her wine.

“I enjoy our Wednesdays, too. It’s why I keep coming back.”

I laughed. “And I’m a lucky man because of it.”

“So much flattery tonight. It must be the win, hmm.”

“Don’t I flatter you often?”

“Well… with more foreplay than wordplay.”

My lids lowered. “Is that what you want? Foreplay, instead?”

“I want whatever you’re giving me.” She lifted a finger. “But first, the rest of my dinner.”

I chuckled. “You’re safe, for now.”

After dinner, Naomi moved to the cream leather sofa and reached for the remote.

“Your turn to pick,”she said, curling her legs underneath her.

I got comfortable next to her and went with her flow, scrolling through options before settling on a romantic comedy. I just wanted to see her reaction to the ridiculous meet-cute playing out on screen more than the movie itself.

“This is terrible,”she murmured twenty minutes in, but she was smiling, her body gradually relaxing against my side.

“You picked the genre,”I reminded her, sliding my arm across the back of the sofa, immediately feeling her warmth.

“I did not. I said you should pick.”

“And you made a face when I hovered over the action movies.”

Her laugh vibrated against my chest as she settled closer. “That’s not picking for me. That’s reading social cues.”

“Ah. So I’m good at social cues.”

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

I chuckled and her hand slipped on top of mine, our fingers intertwining naturally. We sat like that as the movie played, her fingers gripping as she laughed through comedic moments. It was such a small gesture, but it spearheaded the tingles that raced up my arm to my heart.

Somewhere during the second act, her breathing evened out. Her head fell to the curve of my shoulder, and I could feel the steady rise and fall of her chest. Her fingers were relaxed, but remained tangled with mine.

I should have woken her and suggested we move to the bedroom or that she head home. That’s what the rules said when we’d agreed to this when we started.

Some rules, however, were meant to be broken. And as such, I stayed perfectly still, watching her sleep. Her lashes cast shadows on her cheekbones, and that perpetual alertness she had had melted away, leaving a softer, vulnerable, authentic her.

The movie ended. The credits rolled. I reached for the remote with my free hand, switching to some late-night jazz that filled the silence without disturbing her rest.

I thought about the first time I’d seen her sleep.

Three months ago, on a Saturday after a long emergency work day, she’d showered, ate, then curled against my side before catching herself, pulling away with a murmured apology about “staying too long.”Now she slept against me like it was natural, like we’d done this a thousand times.

My phone buzzed on the coffee table, and I scooped it up. It was a text from my brother, Xander.

“Let’s get drinks this weekend.”

I typed back one-handed, careful not to jostle Naomi.

“Rain check.”

The redirection came easily, but it felt like I was hiding something, and I didn’t like that. I was a grown man after all. Secrecy as an adult felt childish. Being straightforward was much more my tastes. But nondisclosure had become our thing.

When Naomi stirred, the jazz had shifted to a slower, more intimate melody. She blinked up at me, momentarily disoriented.

“I fell asleep.”

“You did.”

She started to pull away, and I let her, my arm falling to the sofa cushions. “I should go.”

“Or maybe you should stay.”

Naomi’s eyes searched mine, and for a moment, I thought she might stay and we could acknowledge what had been building between us, like pressure behind a dam.

Instead, she stood, smoothing her dress. “I’ve got an early morning tomorrow.”

I nodded, rising with her. “I’ll walk you out.”

At the door, she turned back. “Dinner was divine. Thank you.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

She nodded, hesitated, and I waited.

“Is there something you’re forgetting?”

We stared, captive in each other’s gazes.

“Have a good night,” she said, turning and leaving me to watch her strut away.

After she left, I cleaned the kitchen, washing dishes that could have waited until morning. My movements were slow, my mind, with her. Naomi’s scent lingered in the space, the peach and grape that lived in my memory.

I should have left and headed back to my penthouse across town. Instead, I poured another glass of wine and settled back on the sofa where she’d been sleeping. The cushions were still warm from where her body had been, and I relaxed in the memory of her presence.