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“I never said you were an idiot,” he says, popping the rest of the asparagus into his mouth. He then says something about me being into sports and... I don't know. I'm not paying attention. I'm watching him eat, my eyes focused on his mouth as he chews that piece of asparagus. He's so mesmerizing. Everything he does is executed with surety, not an ounce of hesitation in his movements.
The longer I look at his mouth, the quicker my thoughts divert. I remember our kiss this morning all too vividly; the way he groaned in my mouth; the way he crushed me against his hard body as though he couldn't get me close enough.
Charlie raises his eyebrows at me and I blink away in a fluster. Why the fuck do I fancy him so much? Is this normal?
Using a colander, and trying to ignore Charlie standing there, I set the asparagus to boil, then I oil a frying pan for the medallions.
“Here, I'll do that.” He takes the frying pan handle, grabbing it over my hand.
I snatch away from him, determined not to go there again.
He smiles coolly at me before seasoning the pork with salt and pepper and some herbs, his motions smooth and confident.
“I don't mind cooking if you're busy, Charlie.”
“No. You're my guest,” he says. “I don't want you cooking.”
Guest?
Resisting the urge to point out that I'm not a guest, more of a prisoner—now, a half willing prisoner who might want him—I try to walk past him so I can get out of his ozone.
“Not so fast.” He catches my wrist and urges me back a step, then nods at the fridge. “Get two beers out.”
Tugging out of his grasp, I grab one bottle of beer out of the fridge, twist off the cap, and put it on the side by Charlie.
“You're not having a drink?”
I shake my head, stepping away to put some distance between us. I don't need anything impairing my mind right now. Charlie does that alone.
“Ohhh, go on.” He gestures at the fridge, his blue eyes shining with amusement. “Live a little. It might help you relax.”
“I don't need a beer to relax.” Crossing my arms, I rest against the sink in resistance.
“You sure?”
“Absolutely.”
He chuckles, his cheekbones sharp with that large smile. He then peppers me in questions, first asking if I learnt anything from our sparring session this morning.
“Nope,” I lie. I learnt that, if one is going to kiss another as a distraction, do it quickly and without adding desire to the mix.
I won't tell him that.
More questions; he's still intrigued by my fighting skills. “Are you gonna tell me who taught you yet?”
“Nope,” I say again, my expression flat of emotion. It's better this way. If I can steer clear of that lusty zone he puts me in, I can maintain control over us. I won't end up kissing him again.
Charlie smirks at me. “Okay then, if curtis how youwant toplay it.” He turns down the heat to put the potatoes on simmer, then he steps in front of me, mimicking my pose by crossing his arms. “If you don't want me to touch you, why did you kiss me earlier?”
My stomach rolls with embarrassment. I don't for a single moment want to talk aboutthat,but I won't keep letting him chip away at me. He has to know that I'm strong minded and more perceptive than he gives me credit for.
“I took advantage of you.”
He flicks up his eyebrows. “Smart girl.”
I huff. That has to be the most modest compliment he's ever given me.
“You know, Blaire, I think you like it when I kiss you,” he stares down the span of my body, then back up, “you just won't admit it because what I make you feel confuses you.”
