Page 77 of Bound By the Sleeper’s Harp

He moved into the kitchen. “Not mine.”

“Whose?!” I demanded, immediately thinking of Luke.

“Nothing you need to worry your pretty little face over.” He inhaled before letting out a pleased groan. “You made me fresh Alfredo?”

“That depends…”

“On what?”

“Whether you answer my question.”

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “It was work stuff. No one you know or should worry about. In fact, someone you shouldn’t spend an ounce of thought on.”

“Work as in WBI? Or your other thing?”

“My other thing,” he said, like it was no big deal.

I hesitated, looking him over from head to toe. “But…you’re okay?” Besides the blood and dirt, there were rips in his jeans, like he’d gotten into a fight and someone had used a knife.

“Fine as ever. Even better once I eat.”

I pulled my shoulders back. “You’re not eating in that state. Go clean yourself up first, it will hold.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He gave me a two-finger salute, a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth, then disappeared.

I resumed my search, looking for where he might keep his bottles of wine. I hadn’t spotted any kind of wine rack. I tried not to think about Bastian going head-to-head with someone dangerous. Tried, and failed.

My nipples tightened to points at the image in my mind. It was freaking hot, the thought of him wielding weapons and his fists.

“Whatcha doing in here, sugar?” I jumped, swearing under my breath as I spun around.

“I was looking for the wine,” I squeaked, gaping at the sight of him. He’d cleaned up quickly, now dressed in a black button down, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows displaying his ropy forearms and the tattoos that covered them. He wore a fresh pair of denim jeans. My gaze snagged on his hair, braided back along his scalp.

God, it wasn’t fair that he should be so hot.

“You won’t find wine in the liquor cabinet.”

“Okay, well, I looked everywhere else!”

He chuckled. “Come here, I’ll show you. I keep my collection hidden, for obvious reasons.”

“Let me guess, because of all the six-thousand-dollar bottles?”

“More like the fifty-thousand dollar bottles. But yes, that’s exactly why,” he said, throwing me a grin.

All I could do was gape at him.

“Come on.” He led me to the hall and pressed his palm against a hidden panel. The wall slid away, revealing a dark staircase. A moment later, the stairwell illuminated with a soft yellow light. He disappeared and I followed after him, descending into an undercroft. “One of the selling points of the house,” he said from the bottom of the stairs. “I made some modifications of my own, concealing the entrance and widening it into part of the basement.”

I emerged into a wine cellar, but unlike any I’d ever seen. Not even in movies. The walls were lined with racks of wine, floor to ceiling. The shelves were broken up with ancient looking wall sconces that burned with gas flames. My mouth opened and closed as I turned in a wide circle. It was the size of my living room at home, and something akin to an old-fashioned setting. There was even a small dining set carved out of dark, richly varnished wood.

“You like?” he asked.

I jumped. He’d come up beside me. His gaze was assessing when I looked up.

“I love it,” I breathed. “What’s with the table?”

“Ah, for tastings and such.”