Larissa's POV
We consumed our dessert without speaking, each spoonful amplifying the electric current crackling between us. When Jonathan finally collected our empty plates, my pulse hammered against my throat and every inch of my body hummed with awareness.
"Exceptional work as always, Jonathan," Carson declared, rising to clasp the chef's hand. "We won't need anything else this evening."
Jonathan inclined his head respectfully. "Of course, sir. I've arranged tomorrow's breakfast service, should you require it."
The underlying meaning in his words hit me like a slap.
How many other women had occupied this very chair?
How many had awakened in his bed to Jonathan's breakfast spread?
Once the chef departed, Carson's attention shifted to me. "Care for a walkthrough of the place?"
"Absolutely," I responded, jumping up too hastily as the alcohol sent blood rushing through my veins. "Show me around."
