Page 34 of Crimson Love

He gives the tomatoes a stir and turns to face me. “Tell me about yours.”

It’s not a question or a request. It’s a demand.

I shake my head. “Sorry. I keep my straws close to the vest. I prefer it that way.”

He crosses his arms. “I just laid mine on the table for you, and you won’t share even one of yours?”

I shake my head. “What can I say? The shorter the straws, the more private they are. You didn’t tell me you were going to dish up personal secrets with dinner.”

He ignores the food as his stare on me intensifies. “This morning when I saw you roll into the manor on racing slicks and decided to take that into my own hands to fix them for you, I did it because I needed a distraction. But I also did it because I was curious.”

I want to run out of the kitchen and barricade myself in my office for the next decade until everyone forgets about me. “Why are you curious about me?”

He shakes his head. “I’m not curious anymore.”

I let out an exhale. “Good.”

He lifts his chin a tad. “Curiosity isn’t a strong enough word for how I feel.”

My expression falls and whatever was left of that relieved exhale escapes my body. “Why?”

He turns to the opened package of chicken and tosses four thin, raw chicken breasts on top of the tomato mixture. He says nothing and seasons it with crushed red pepper. What he does not do is explain himself or turn to look at me.

“Jett.” His name is a demand on my lips, but it also goes unanswered. I push away from the counter and go to his side next to the industrial range that’s big enough to cook for an army. I grab his biceps and force him to look at me. “I don’t know what you’re doing or what you’re talking about, but I need you to stop.”

He flips the chicken and tosses some asparagus on top before covering it with a lid. When he finally turns to me, we’re so close, I feel the intensity roll off him in waves. For a moment, it feels like he’s going to reach out to touch me.

The desire to put half the kitchen’s distance between us is strong. In any other scenario, I’d give into that desire, but for some reason I don’t.

I think it scares me as much as our proximity.

“Please,” I beg on a trembling tone. “Car theft aside, you seem like a nice guy. You do not want anything to do with me. Especially not now.”

His gaze drags across my face.

“Trust me,” I whisper. “Please.”

“And that right there...” He lets that thought trail off until the only thing filling the space is chicken sautéing in whatever concoction he threw together. His laser focus makes me hot and cold all at the same time. “That’s what takes my curiosity to a new level. I’ve never given a shit about anyone enough to know their secrets.”

I hug myself tighter. “Why do you care about mine?”

“Two reasons. One, for the first time in a very long time, I don’t have to give a shit about me. That right there is freeing. And two ... why would I not? Hell, why would anyone not give a shit about you?”

What I don’t tell him is there are many people who give a shit about me, but not for the reasons one would want.

Whatever science going on in my body right now hangs in the balance somewhere between electrifying and dread. My mouth goes so dry, and I have to force myself to swallow over the boulder lodged in my throat.

“I can’t lie,” he goes on. “Feels good to have a new goal in life.”

Lord, now I’m a goal.

Not good.

Being someone’s goal makes it hard to skip town and escape to Timbuktu. I’m not sure where that is other than it’s far, far away from here.

I pick up my water and empty its contents before I point to the skillet with the empty glass. “Do you need to flip those?”

His lips tug north on one side. “You like to cook?”