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“What the hell is going on?” Ra’if strode through the apartment, wearing only a pair of boxer shorts, his eyes quickly scanning Melinda to assure himself she was okay. He summed up the situation quickly enough and let out a laugh of bemusement.
“I’m sorry, sir,” his Chef Aon was saying with a deferential bow. “I was not aware you had…”
“It’s fine, Aon. This is Miss Higgins. Melinda, this is the chef I’ve mentioned.”
“Oh.” She swallowed, discretely placing the pepper on the bench behind her. “I’m sorry,” she said to the chef. “I got a fright.”
“It was not my intention to scare you,” the chef said, and it was impossible to detect anything from the tone of his voice. He was simply deferential.
“No, I know.” She smiled weakly. “I thought I was alone.”
Ra’if took control of the situation, moving to the kitchen and putting a reassuring hand around Melinda’s waist. “Excus
e us,” he dismissed the servant, and Aon left instantly, perhaps glad to have been spared more time in the embarrassing situation.
The second the door had clicked closed, Melinda turned to face Ra’if.
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly, the words tripping over themselves. “I didn’t except anyone else to be here.”
“If I’d known you were staying, I would have made sure my household kept away,” he assured her. “The oversight was mine. I’m sorry he frightened you.”
“He did nothing but appear,” she contradicted with a grimace. “The poor man. I think I frightened him half to death.”
“Well, you were wielding that pepper grinder with menacing intent.”
A smile broke across her face. “I’m pretty deadly with household items. You should see me with a lamp shade.”
“I’d like that,” he grinned, wrapping his arms around her back, holding her tight. “I’m sorry he intruded on us.”
“Don’t be.” She lifted her hands to his ridged abdomen, spreading her fingers wide across his broad chest. “I wanted to make us breakfast. You know, you are really healthy.”
He laughed. “Am I?”
“If your kitchen’s anything to go by.”
His eyes locked to hers. “I was raised to appreciate good food.”
“But granola and fruit?”
“What’s wrong with that?” He arched a brow enquiringly.
“Nothing.”
He pressed a kiss to her forehead then broke away from her, moving across the kitchen with his lithe gait. He pressed a capsule into the coffee machine and placed a small cup underneath it.
The aroma of just-pressed coffee filled the open-plan living area. She breathed it in gratefully.
He placed the coffee down beside her then returned to the machine. “Eating well, staying fit; these are things I neglected for a time in my life.”
“When you were making bad decisions?” She prompted.
Guilt stole across his chest. Why was he keeping the truth of his addiction hidden from her? Because of Brent, that was why. If she were any other woman, he would have revealed his story simply as a matter of course, knowing she would be able to put it into perspective. But Melinda had every reason to believe a one-time drug addiction might be a life-time problem.
He would tell her, eventually.
He thought of Olivia, and their last conversation. The concern in her voice. Did she live with the fear that Ra’if would relapse? How could he make everyone understand that he was a completely different person now? His recovery had been hard-fought, but it had been complete.
Drugs were of no interest to him; he didn’t seek that high, nor that obliteration.
