Page 51 of Lucian

An elastic, which she hadn’t been wearing before, was holding back her curls in a ponytail at the nape of her neck. With her hair pulled back like it was, some of the bruising on her neck was visible, but it wasn’t bad. There was also a slight reddish discoloration at her pulse point that hadn’t been there last night, but was curtsey of Lucian’s teeth and mouth that morning.

He’d marked her very clearly. Anyone standing close enough to see the love bite would know exactly what it was. Lucian liked that a whole hell of a lot. Just looking at it from a distance sent something primal curling through his stomach while lust flooded his veins.

Kind of like it made Jordyn his.

That was dangerous territory.

Needing to get his mind away from that topic, Lucian crossed the distance between him and Jordyn, coming up behind her silently at the stove. Both of his hands landed at her waist, grabbing tight as he leaned in to kiss her neck. Jordyn didn’t start in surprise at his sudden presence. In fact, she relaxed in his hold and turned into his cheek, allowing Lucian to press his lips to the corner of her demure smile.

“Hey,” she said. “How’d it go?”

Lucian hadn’t hid the fact he and his father were going to need privacy for their chat, and it would be dealing with Jordyn being under his protection and in his life. He figured she deserved to know things that dealt with her.

“Fine,” Lucian replied. “I think we settled it all, anyway.”

“Bringing a girl home is a big deal for you Marcello boys, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, it kind of is, sweetheart. Especially if that girl has a gang looking for her and it might cause us trouble”

Jordyn turned rigid at the reminder.

“Sorry,” he said quickly.

“No, I just … Never mind.”

“Tell me.”

Jordyn continued stirring the many pots on the stove, sighing. “I guess it’s easy to forget.”

Lucian’s brow furrowed. “Forget? Jesus, how?”

“I’m not sure,” Jordyn said with a weak laugh. “That sounds crazy, I know. But when I’m around you, I don’t feel like I need to look over my shoulder. I haven’t felt unsafe. I mean, look at this house, Lucian.” She waved at the kitchen they were standing in. “Right here, right now. How am I supposed to feel like some troubled girl on the run from a man who wants to kill her when I’m in a place like this? It doesn’t make me feel that way. So yeah, it’s easy to forget.”

Maybe he could understand that, if he tried. And hell, if she wanted to slip away from reality for a little while, who was he to bring up something to worry her?

“Helping my mother, hmm?” Lucian asked. “I didn’t know you liked to cook. We could go pick up some things, if you want. Being Italian means Cecelia made damn sure we all knew how to feed ourselves.”

“She let me try something different, actually.”

Lucian froze. “You mean, adding to her recipes? She … let you?”

That wasn’t possible. Not his OCD, overly anal, manic-in-the-kitchen mother. Cecelia would have a fit if someone moved anything an inch from where she wanted it. Learning to cook under her eagle-eye was unnerving.

“Yes. Why? It was just a couple of spices. It wasn’t like I was going to make it taste bad on purpose, Lucian.”

Lucian shook his head, trying to shake off the twilight feeling. “No, I don’t think you understand. My mother doesn’t let people help her cook. Antony once tried to add a little bit of salt to one of her stews, and she nearly broke his knuckle with her stirring spoon. Dante thought it would be funny to switch around her spice labels when he was sixteen, and she made him wash all the baseboards in this house with rags and hot soapy water. Do you want to know the square footage of this home, Jordyn?”

Jordyn didn’t seemed bothered by those statements at all. “How long did it take him?”

“A week, and that was with help. She’s crazy about this space. We all tend to stay away for obvious safety and mental health reasons.”

“She liked what I did. You’ll see. It tastes fine. Want to try?”

Lucian stumbled over his mind and words, coming up with absolutely nothing. How on earth did this woman warm up his mother enough to let her meddle with her cooking? It just wouldn’t compute in his brain.

Unless …

“She likes you,” Lucian said, voicing his inner thoughts. “Trusts you.”