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I snatched my shirt from the floor and punched my hands through the sleeves. My brother hated me. My…fucking woman was pissed off with the both of us at this moment. Why the fuck did I come back?
The faint rush of water sounded somewhere upstairs. For her…that’s why I’d come back. For her.
I yanked up my zipper and turned around, scanning the ugly goddamn mansion. “Where the fuck is the kitchen in this goddamn place?”
“Just take it easy, yeah?” Kane urged.
“Sure.” I strode away. “Easy, that’s my middle name.”
He muttered something else but I couldn’t hear him. I was too busy making my way through the place to find the kitchen at the back. Surprisingly, it was impressive. Miele ovens and cooktops in a sleek black finish. But it was the counter that made me stop and stare. It was a thick slab of stone. One obviously taken when they’d carved into the mountain to make way for the house.
I reached out and ran my finger along the sleek surface polished to a gleam. Envy rose. The bastard had the balls to hide and watch everything from up here in his little oasis and still blame us for what went down?
No.
Not us.
Just me.
“Yeah, well, fuck you,” I murmured and turned around, pulling open cupboards, until I found the pantry. Mentally, I made a list of what she needed in my head. It felt good, purposeful. I needed her and more than just to touch and fuck. I needed her to occupy my mind.
Within a few moments, I’d pulled out the basic ingredients, finding pasta sauce, instant lasagne, and vegetables in a fully stocked refrigerator.
The bastard ate well, that was for sure.
Steak.
Chicken.
Lean cuts of lamb.
I couldn’t help but grin.
All the things she hated.
I cut vegetables and splashed olive oil into one pan while I placed the sauce and broken lasagne into another pan. By the time I heard the soft padding of steps, I was searing zucchinis and vibrant red peppers.
“Damn, that smells so good,” she muttered.
“Pity none of this is for you,” I answered right before she slid her arms around my waist and hugged me from behind.
“Yes,” she murmured. “That is a pity. You know how well I reward those who cook for me.”
She had me turning in an instant. “No, I’m sure I don’t know.”
Her smile was pure fucking perfection and it hit me how far removed I was now from the man I’d been. I would murder for that smile. I’d even share with the ones who distrusted me the most. That was no mean feat.
I curled a damp strand of hair around her ear. “Are you okay?”
It was a loaded question.
Did I mean from us, from Hunter, from the men who’d attacked her at The Order? Or all the above? That spark of happiness in her eyes dulled for a second. She glanced at the stove then answered. “Give me a gun in my hand and about five minutes alone with the bastards who did that to me and I will be.”
My jaw clenched. I wanted to be the one who made them pay. I ached for it. Dreamed about it. But she was the one who needed it the most. She needed…closure. I’d be the one who gave it to her.
I switched off the stove, grabbed the single plate off the counter, and heaped the sautéed vegetables onto the side before I spooned the thickened lasagne and sauce on top. “Don’t even ask me what this is called. All rules are out the window where you’re concerned.”
She was right behind me when I turned around, her hand cupping my cheek. Desire flared in her stare, a hunger that stole my breath. My pulse boomed as I leaned down and kissed her.
