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Her envy notched up. She tamped it down.
And all this time, while she knew he'd been aware of every single move of hers, he hadn't looked at her once. Not once. Not since coming in after punching her father hours ago.
It shouldn't bother her. It did. And she hated it.
Finally, he took a seat at the table and started serving some kind of chicken into four plates, not extending an invitation to her but clearly telling her she wouldn't be starved. That was something, she supposed.
Sliding down from the stool, Morana felt her newly bruised muscles protest against the movement as she limped her way to the chair farthest from the man, which happened to be the one beside Dante and sat down. She saw Tristan Caine's eyes flicker from her chair to Dante's once before he dug into his food without any preliminaries, and Morana picked up her fork to load some delicious smelling chicken on it.
She almost had the fork to her mouth when her eyes fell to his throat, exposed by the open collar of his shirt, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed, working that piece of food in a way that made the blood rush to her head. What the hell was wrong with her? It had been yesterday. Just yesterday they'd fucked on a bathroom counter in the restaurant. Her body wasn't supposed to be reacting like this, at least not so soon.
Forcing herself to remove her eyes from his corded neck, she raised the fork to her mouth and took a bite.
And nearly moaned.
Spices burst forth on the tongue, curling around it, invading her senses, the taste rich and the food succulent. It didn't taste like he'd cooked it in under an hour in his home. It tasted like something chefs tired over for an entire day before serving the customers. Had she not seen him prepare it from the scratch, she'd never have believed he had cooked it. So, he was also good at cooking too. Figured.
Keeping her reaction under the lid, she quietly proceeded to eat, ravenous, her body realizing how long it had been since she had fed it. She was nearly halfway through the meal when Tristan Caine looked at Dante and spoke, continuing the conversation from before.
"About what?"
Dante chewed on his bite, his handsome jaw working the food before swallowing it, briefly glanced at her and Amara before looking at the other man. "About everything."
Tristan Caine didn't blink. "Tell him what you wish to."
Dante dropped his fork down, steepled his fingers and took in a deep breath of control.
Morana watched the interaction with fascination.
"She can't stay here," Dante announced in a quiet tone, his voice unapologetic.
Tristan Caine just raised an eyebrow.
"You know what I mean, Tristan. It's dangerous for all of us to harbor her here," Dante looked at her again, his dark eyes flickering with a hint of regret before he turned away again.
"I understand last night was dire and I wouldn't have let her leave in her condition myself. But this is the light of the day. We can't have this mess with the codes, the stuff happening at home and Vitalio running his mouth, accosting us of kidnapping and god-knows-what his daughter."
Morana's breath hitched. Dante was right. She hadn't even thought about all the riot her father could create. All the war they'd wanted to avoid, all in her name.
"He doesn't know she's here," Tristan Caine informed the table. "He tracked her car but he has no proof."
Dante scoffed. "And that punch to his face? You know how well that's going to go with father."
Tristan Caine shrugged. "He invaded on our turf without warning or permission. He knows the rules."
Dante sighed. "We can get her to a safe house. But she can't be here."
Oh, no way in hell. God, this was bad. She didn't dare look at Tristan Caine, not sure what she would find in his face, not sure what she wanted to find.
Swallowing, she spoke. "Look, I just need my car and I'll be out of your hair–"
"She's not leaving," Tristan Caine interrupted quietly. Too quietly.
Dante sighed again. "Tristan, this is insane. You can't keep her here like this. You need to tell her –”
"And you need to leave."
Morana did a double-take at the sudden lethal harshness in his voice. Tristan Caine still didn't look at her, just stared evenly at his blood brother, his face giving no indication whatsoever of what was going on in his head. Dante stared back just as evenly, a silent conversation happening between the two men that raised the hair on the back of her neck – a conversation about her. They were clashing over her and she had no idea why. What did Dante know that he wanted Tristan Caine to tell her? What the hell was going on?
