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Dad’s the first to get up. “Your mom will pop in later to check on the girl.”
I nod again. “Rosalie could do with female company, and hopefully, Mom will be able to offer her some comfort.”
I walk my father and uncle out onto the patio and watch as they head back to their homes.
I turn around and take the stairs up to the first floor to check on Rosalie. She’s been quiet for hours, and I want to make sure she’s okay.
Well, as okay as she can be under the circumstances.
I’m just about to knock on the door when it opens. Rosalie startles, instantly taking a step back.
We stare at each other for a moment before I ask, “Are you hungry?”
She has to be starving. Besides the single bite of casserole, she hasn’t eaten anything since the attack.
Her gaze rests cautiously on me as she nods.
I gesture down the hallway. “I’ll fix us an early dinner.”
“I can make myself a sandwich.”
Letting out a heavy breath, I signal for her to walk. Rosalie keeps glancing back as I follow her to the living area. She pauses in the kitchen, looking uncomfortable.
I take a seat at the island and point at the fridge. “Help yourself.”
While she takes tomatoes and cheese from the fridge, she keeps glancing at me, clearly on edge being around me. I watch as she reaches for a knife, the corner of my mouth lifting.
Slowly she cuts slices off the tomato. Her body tenses, her fingers flexing around the handle.
“I’d think twice if I were you,” I murmur softly.
She cuts another slice, and her hand starts to tremble. Tension comes off her in waves, her lips parting so her tongue can nervously dart out to wet them.
The instant she makes her move, I’m up. As she raises her arm, I grab hold of her wrist, and with an easy twist, she’s forced to drop the knife. The sound of it clattering on the tiles mixes with a frustrated cry from her.
I let go of her, and taking a step back, a burst of amused laughter escapes me. “That’s the shitiest attack I’ve ever seen.”
“Screw you,” she mutters, twin flames burning on her cheeks.
Crouching, I pick up the knife and hold the side of the handle out to her. “Let’s try that again. This time pretend you actually want to kill me.”
Her eyes dart to mine, shadows of fear dancing in the depths of her irises. Cautiously, she takes hold of the handle.
I step back and hold my arms up in a surrendering gesture. “Go on. Try to stab me.”
Her gaze flits between my face and chest, her body wound so tight, I’m worried she might strain a muscle.
Rosalie lunges forward, and wanting to build her confidence, I hold still and only move at the last second. Again I grab her wrist, but this time I don’t twist it to force the knife out of her hold. Instead, I yank her against me, and as her head tilts back, I lean down. Our faces are an inch apart, and I can feel her breaths rushing over my lips.
Blyad', she’s breathtakingly stunning.
Attraction flames up inside me, making me overly aware of her. I take in the golden flecks hiding between the soft brown of her eyes. Her button nose makes her look cute as fuck, and her heart-shaped lips beg to be kissed.
When she tries to put some space between us, I wrap my right arm around her to keep her in place. I stare into her eyes until they start to burn with anger.
“Now take that anger and use it. Let it make you stronger,” I order, my tone too low and intimate.
She yanks against my hold, trying to free her hand.
