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“You do.”
I place a small bandage on the cut and release her hand. Throw out the trash. When I turn back, she’s already back at the stove, stirring something in a pot, as if being too close to me makes her uncomfortable, too. Or is that just my imagination?
“Thank you for your help,” she says, her back to me. “I have a lot to do to get ready for tonight.”
Is she dismissingme?
I stand and put my hands in my pockets. “Right.” I don’t want to leave. “Anything you need?”
“I’ve got everything I need, but thank you,” she says. “When should I have this ready?”
We talk about details, but the whole time I wonder if I’ve imagined her pulling away from me. I want to reach for her. I want to tuck her against my chest and hold her. I want to kiss her until she moans and show her everything that waits for her just on the other side ofright.
Beingwith someone I actually want to be with might be the most dangerous thing I could possibly do.
No. I can’t be with her at all. I’m afraid I’ll break her, that she’ll bow like a ship in a storm when I unleash myself on her.
There are so many reasons I can’t have her, I’m wasting every second of the time I’m with her imagining something different.
I stand awkwardly behind her, my hands shoved into my pockets. “Let me know if you need anything.”
She replies without even turning around. “Thank you, Sergio.”
I turn and walk away.
I can’t have her. I can’t be with her. I can’t even kiss her.
Then why does it take all of my self-control to walk out of this kitchen and leave her behind?
It’s the first time in my life I can’t have a woman I want.
It only makes me want her more.
* * *
CHAPTERSEVEN
Eden
Days passand I don’t see Sergio again.
I shouldn’t care, but I can’t help but check the doorways when I hear footsteps, scan the parking lot for his car, and it would be a lie to say I wasn’t listening for the sound of his voice whenever anyone speaks.
It’s exhausting and frustrating. I want to shake myself.I’ve never felt this way about another person, and I… no. The truth is, I’ve never felt this about aman,and that’s dangerous territory for me. I came here with a very distinct purpose in mind, and I can’t let… whatever this is… sway me.
He sent word through his staff that the food I’ve made is “excellent.”
I’m tempted to make a sub-par meal just to get his attention, but I’m not that juvenile. And why do I want his attention? I don’t even know the man.
I still wonder where I am. It’s taken all of my self-control not to explore more of my surroundings to see what the big secret is. My job doesn’t take all day, even though I’vetriedto occupy myself.
At home—no,I can’t think of it like that. Where I came from, I worked all day, every day. I worked my fingers to the bone. We all did. So it’s natural for me to look for things to do here to keep my mind off of all things Sergio.
I’ve made my own sourdough starter, baked bread from scratch, and even canned an oversupply of green beans, much to the surprise of the kitchen staff. I made fresh pasta and tiramisu, two of the best recipes I have, hoping to draw Sergio out. On a whim, I even sent away for exotic ingredients for a complicated dish… but he only had one of his staff members fill the order.
I huff out a breath and sit on the bed in the room he’s letting me use, wondering what I want to do next. A loud knock on the door startles me; my heart beats faster, hope begins to bloom, and then—
“May I come in?”
