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So he fucked her instead, wearing both of them out to the point of total exhaustion. Afterward, he only stayed awake long enough to make sure she finally fell asleep—though he pretended to be out cold so she could retrieve his phone from the bathroom. Chivalry isn’t dead.
What was it about this woman that made him want to break all his own rules?
Rafe nodded at Mason and his current sub—a pretty, petite blonde he’d never seen at the Manor before—as he passed through the dining room. The Belgian waffle smothered in mixed berries and whipped cream on the plate in front of them made his mouth water. He and Nell would definitely have to make some time for a proper breakfast after she finished her morning tasks. He could practically taste the Vermont maple syrup.
Only problem was, they’d never make it to breakfast on half a mug of coffee apiece.
The kitchen door swung back and forth on its two-way hinges after he pushed his way through. “Gabriel—”
“Back so soon?” the head chef interrupted, glancing up from his stand mixer. From the looks of it, he’d been adding vanilla to a new batch of whipped cream. “Luca, get him another cup of coffee.” The newest member of Gabriel’s daytime kitchen staff moved off toward the ridiculously fancy coffeemaker. Rafe had been forbidden from ever touching the thing, with all its knobs and buttons.
“Actually, can I also get some tea?” Rafe said, stopping Luca in his tracks. “I’m not sure what she prefers, so do you mind making up a tray with a few options? I want to make sure there’s at least one thing she likes.”
Every head in the kitchen turned his way by the time he stopped speaking. They stared at him as if he’d delivered his request in song and dance.
Rafe drew his brows together, glowering at them. “What?”
Gabriel’s two underlings found their work all-engrossing all of a sudden. For his part, Luca hit far more buttons on that ridiculous contraption than necessary to make a mug of black coffee.
The head chef himself watched Rafe with pursed lips that did little to hide his smile. Rafe’s glower didn’t seem to have any effect on him.
“You heard the man,” Gabriel said at last, returning his attention to the whipped cream. “Kendra, can you prepare a tea tray for his guest?”
The submissive little cook looked up with wide, startled eyes, like she was on the verge of tears. She hurried into the kitchen’s huge walk-in pantry, presumably in search of teabags.
She’d been terrified of Rafe since the day she started, more than three years earlier. He admittedly hadn’t done much to ease that fear, liking the way she hunched in on herself whenever he entered the kitchen, trying to appear as small as possible. It always sent a thrill through him—made him feel like a predator spotting his next prey.
Now it just made him feel like an asshole. Though, for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why. It’s not like he’d ever been mean to the girl. Best he could remember, he’d never even been mildly rude. What the hell did he have to feel bad about? He found himself wishing for the two cooks on Gabriel’s evening staff, Sienna and Eric. They were a much hardier lot.
Holding in an annoyed growl, he waited as patiently as he could while Luca and Kendra prepared everything for him. The bulk of the tray was taken up by a vintage porcelain teapot with matching cup and saucer, plus sugar cubes, tongs, and a tiny silver spoon. There was also a small wooden box Kendra assured him contained twenty different flavors of tea, her trembling voice barely even a whisper.
Spread around the four corners were three cups of fancy iced tea lattes; the bright green one was apparently called a matcha latte, but the rest went in one ear and out the other. And then, of course, his own coffee, tucked into the fourth corner.
“Wow,” he said, staring down at the tea smorgasbord. “This is amazing, Kendra. Thank you.”
Once again, all eyes in the kitchen were glued to his face. Jesus, maybe he had been an asshole, whether he meant to be or not.
“Y-you’re welcome, Sir,” she whispered, scurrying back to her station.
Making a mental note to say thank you more often, Rafe stalked out of the room, barely sparing a glance at the two still enjoying their breakfast in the dining room. He knew from the start his week with Nell would force him out of his comfort zone. But it was already so much more than he imagined, and they were only on day three.
The weirdest part was, he wasn’t even sure how he felt about it. At least part of himlikedthe way she made him feel off balance. Like maybe it had been a long time coming.
Rafe got most of the way down the back hallway before he heard it—the sound of someone’s rapid, desperate gasps for air.
“Fuck.”
He ran the rest of the way to the parlor, various teas sloshing over the sides of the cups, mixing with his near-black coffee on the silver tray. Bursting in through the parlor doorway, he found Nell curled up into a tight ball on the floor, hyperventilating.
“Hey,” he said, dropping the tray on an end table and hurrying to her side. “It’s all right. I’m h—”
A bloodcurdling scream cut off his words. He’d tried to pull her hands away from her face, and she wrenched away from him as though his touch burned her skin.
Panic swelling in his own chest, he knelt down on the rug beside her, getting as close as he could without touching her. If she went into attack mode and succeeded in breaking his nose this time, so fucking be it. She had to know she wasn’t alone.
“I’m here,” he said, doing his best to project a sense of calm and peace with his voice. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Footsteps pounded down the hall, and he looked up as Mason skidded to a stop in the doorway. But he waved the other man away. Nell didn’t need help from a total stranger right now. She neededhim.
