Bring the Heat, Margot Radcliffe [best novels to read to improve english .TXT] 📗

Molly shivered. “Not so much.”

Oliver chuckled, leaning down to land a soft kiss on the top of her head. “I’m just ready for some food I don’t have to cook myself.”

Molly twisted away and met his eyes. “Oh, no, you don’t,” she warned. “I told you not to cook for me.”

Oliver raised an eyebrow. “Oh, you were just going to eat peanut butter and jelly every night on a yacht?”

“I can make other things,” Molly argued, offended, but her eyes slid away because it was true, her menu was limited. The favorites in her phone contacts list were all take-out places.

“You know I’m kidding,” Oliver said, drawing her back into his arms. “My favorite part of this trip other than the obvious has been watching you fawn over my mediocre cooking as if I’m a Michelin-starred chef.”

Molly crossed her arms over her chest, putting space between them. “You are a good cook, but I won’t be eating a thing now that I know you’re slaving away for my benefit alone.”

Oliver’s shoulders shook. “I just meant that it would be nice to have a dinner I didn’t have to cook for myself as well, Molly. I’ve never known you to take things so personally.”

“I know you don’t cook in your day-to-day life,” Molly explained, frowning. “So that you’re doing it for me is a lot and I don’t like feeling indebted to anyone.”

The golf cart stopped in front of the yacht club boathouse where a town car was waiting at the curb to drive them to the restaurant. Oliver handed yet another hundred dollar bill to the driver as they exited the cart and then entered the town car.

Molly got in first, scooting over to make room for Oliver on the seat, but she could feel the tension. As they settled into the cool air-conditioning of the car, it started to move before he turned to her, his eyes locking on hers. “Listen to me right now. You are never fucking indebted to me, Molly,” Oliver said, his voice deep and intense. “If I gave you my yacht, you are not in my debt because you’d deserve it. You’re not in the position to dictate to another person what you think you’re worth to them. So if I want to cook you dinner every night of my life, I’ll damn well do it and you’ll know you’re worth it to me.”

He brought a hand up to her jaw, trapping her gaze on his when she would have looked away at the fierce words.

“Do you get me?”

She swallowed, heart pounding against the walls of her chest. This was a different Oliver, not the devil-may-care guy on the yacht talking to Jane or the other crew members on his own boat. This was Oliver the man who bought yachts and built companies, the one she’d glimpsed during their conversation about Max. He so often played the fun and carefree rich guy that she’d failed to see the whole man.

“I don’t hear you, Molly,” he said, reminding her that she hadn’t answered him yet. “Or are you trying to think of another way you can tell me that you don’t want to be in my life?”

“That’s not—” she started, but he shook his head.

“You don’t want me to pay you for honest work, you don’t want me to cook for you like a normal man who would share in household stuff since you are the one fucking taking care of the rest of the damned boat, so what can I do, Molly, that’ll even the scales for you?” She tried to answer again, but he had more to say. “I’m always going to be rich. Unless some catastrophic tragedy happens and every stream of income I have somehow dries up, I will always be a wealthy motherfucker. I can’t change it, and frankly, I don’t really want to. I worked hard for the money I use, and the money I inherited will build a business that will employ thousands of people so I’m not going to be sorry for it. The real question is, we’re right now at the beginning of this, so if you’re going to let my money be a problem between us, let’s hash it out now because what I can’t do is wait until we’re further into what is already the best relationship of my life and learn that you can’t deal with being with me because of my money. So whatever you’re thinking right now, let it out.”

Molly swallowed, her throat working against the sudden nerves.

“I didn’t know we were in a relationship,” she finally managed, getting to the heart of the matter. The word was circling in her mind, stealing her breath by slow degrees as she considered what it actually meant. Where had the discussion been about that, by the way? Just yesterday she’d been thinking about what she’d do when she returned to her real life and now she was somehow in a relationship with someone who felt out of her reach on so many levels?

“You know what I mean,” Oliver told her. “We’re together and sleeping together. We’re not not in a relationship.”

“Deciding on whether or not something is a relationship takes two people, Oliver,” she pointed out.

“You’re deliberately focusing on the wrong part of what I said,” Oliver chastised, his eyes darkening.

“I don’t think so,” Molly said. “Because the rest of what you said doesn’t matter if we’re not in a relationship. Which, we aren’t.”

Oliver’s lips thinned and while he wasn’t angry, he wasn’t exactly pleased, either. Then he took her hand and his face cleared completely, a winning smile transforming his face. “Molly, will you be my girlfriend?”

An involuntary laugh flew out of her before she could grab it back. “What?” she asked, flustered despite knowing he was half goading her.

Oliver grabbed her hands in his, thumbs running over the backs of them. “You’ve indicated that we’re not in a relationship and that we need to agree together that we’re