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That’s when I notice that while I was having an inner crisis over how affected I am by him, he was grabbing bread.
He’s making me a sandwich.
Despite everything, he’s feeding me.
It makes no sense. Is this who he is? A man who makes me a sandwich because I said I was hungry.
This man doesn’t match the version I have in my head.
“Here.” His voice breaks through my inner rambling.
“I don’t want it.”Petty on aisle one.I do want it. I just don’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing I do.
“Have it your way.” He moves to pick up the plate.
“Wait,” I say, my stomach rumbling. Blue eyes meet mine, the expression unreadable. He watches me, his gaze trailing over my face, lingering on my lips, and making my cheeks warm.
I drop my gaze, needing to break the connection. When I do, I notice the smirk, and that he’s liftingmysandwich to his mouth.
Then he takes a bite and swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the movement.
“You’re intolerable.”
“Call me whatever you want, firefly. As long as you’re safe, I’ll be whatever you want me to be.” He places the plate on the counter in front of me, a small piece missing from the sandwich, and licks his lips. I follow the movement, heat pooling in my stomach. “Even if that makes you my prisoner. Tomorrow…”
“Yes?”
“Eat a bigger breakfast.” Then Gideon strides out of the room, sucking out the air with him.
I stare toward the empty space as my heart hammers in my chest, and my face warms. I’m tingling with emotions, like a live wire that needs to be shut off.
13
SASHA
Some days are good days,and others are bad. Today is the latter.
My head swirls with dark thoughts. My hands twitch, and I can feel the anger bubbling through me like molten lava.
Why?
That’s an easy one. I’ve been here for a week, and he’s avoiding me.
I still have questions, and I know he has the answers.
Maybe he doesn’t know who wants me dead, but he certainly knows about my brother’s life before he was killed.Roman wanting to keep me safe doesn’t mesh with the last few years of his life. Since Gideon spent those years working with him, I’m hoping to reconcile the two versions of a man that I clearly didn’t know.
That’s the only thought I have as I’m storming through the hallway from the dining room to his office.
This morning, I assumed that I could speak with him over breakfast, but once again, he’s left me alone again.
To fend for myself.
Now, while this idea holds merit, it doesn’t work for me when I’m trying to get to the bottom of why I’m here.
What threat could be so big to warrant me having to live here?
I’m fuming as I make my approach, my heart pounding with rage. Hell, my whole body is shaking, the anger coursing through my veins like lightning. I am a storm of emotion, gathering strength with every step that brings me closer to confrontation.
