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The typical sharpness of his features gave way to compassion, and I hated it. I hated that he thought he had any right to feel sorry for me.
“I’ll just go to bed,” I said. “Let me go.”
“No.” Lucian released me. “You won’t.”
I was prepared to wage a full-fledged war with him until he walked to the cupboard and removed a pot, offering it to me.
“What is this?” I eyed the offending item wearily.
“Come here,” he instructed. “I’m going to show you how to make macaroni and cheese.”
I didn’t want to go. I’d been humiliated enough already, and I suspected this wouldn’t go over well. But I also suspected that Lucian would do something worse to my innocent shoes if I didn’t. At least, that was what I told myself when I forced myself to join him in front of the stove.
He handed off the pan and gave me instructions in the same no-nonsense way he always spoke. “First, you need to add water.”
I used the filtered spout from the fridge and did as he told me, anxiety building in my chest when I realized I didn’t know how much to add. I was too proud to ask, but it didn’t matter because a moment later, I felt his hand on my arm, signaling me to stop. When I turned, he was so close my hair brushed against his jaw. Our eyes locked, and for a second, I forgot how to breathe. I couldn’t deny the power of this man. Not when it was right in front of me.
He was unjustly handsome, his face the kind of beautiful you’d never expect from someone so antisocial. Inwardly, I knew he didn’t feel anything. I’d seen him cold and cruel, inflexible and harsh. But at that moment, his eyes were gentle, and I couldn’t find it in me to break away. I studied the lines of his face, the signs of stray silver hairs on his temples. Something about him made me feel as if I’d been punched in the chest every time I looked at him.
I broke the spell between us and turned away. Lucian took my cue, shaking his head as he retreated and gave me back my space.
“Now it goes on the stove,” he told me, his voice thick with something I couldn’t identify.
“Okay.” I set the pot on the stove, and he continued his lesson, never taking his eyes off me.
He showed me how to light the burner, and then he stood beside me while we waited in awkward silence for the water to heat. The kitchen was hot, and somehow in the space of just a few moments, the tension between us seemed to reach a boiling point.
I followed his instructions for the next ten minutes, emptying the pasta into the pot, stirring, straining, and mixing. Every time Lucian leaned closer and his skin brushed against mine, my heart beat a little faster. I wondered if it was intentional, if he knew what he was doing to me. But when I chanced a peek up at him, I realized it wasn’t just me.
Gazing into eyes so dark, they looked downright predatory, I didn’t have to guess that he was affected too. I could feel the heat rolling off him when he tucked an errant piece of hair away from my face.
“You should wear this back when you cook,” he said in a rough voice.
I nodded because I couldn’t speak, and Lucian seemed to understand that things were getting out of control when his eyes momentarily drifted to my lips. For a split second, I thought he might try to kiss me. But instead, he turned away, scrubbing a hand through his hair before he retrieved a bowl from the cupboard and set it on the counter.
“Eat up, pet. I need to get back to work.”
“HOLY CRAP.” GYPSY GLANCED OUT the passenger window with wide eyes. “You’re taking me to church?”
I glanced at her face in profile, the beaming sunlight highlighting her coppery skin. She had the cheekbones of a woman, but her animated expressions often exposed her youth. I wondered what was going through her mind when she pressed her fingertips against the door and leaned forward. Did she recall how many times she came here on her own to confess her sins, or would she even admit to me that she had?
She opted for silence, even as I opened the door and helped her from the car. I’d given her a new dress for the occasion—one I hoped would be modest—but it occurred to me there was no such piece of clothing for Gypsy. Her legs went on for miles, and it didn’t matter what material she wrapped herself in, she was the Christmas present every man wanted.
At that moment, I was one of them. I couldn’t take my eyes off her. Without all the makeup and the invisible armor, she looked like she might have belonged here, even if she didn’t feel like it.
