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Maybe I’m crazy to have asked the guards to leave. Perhaps the moment Noble’s long, long fangs are about to slice through my carotid, I’m going to regret my impulsivity. But I don’t think that’s going to happen.
With Barton and Watson out of the way, I get on with my lesson.
Casually, after cracking two eggs in a bowl and whisking them, I say, “I think someone should look at your tail. If you burned the flesh, you’ll need some salve. Maybe an antibiotic.”
I hand him the whisk, which he immediately masters, his hand moving so fast it’s a blur.
“Even if the flesh was burned, it would already be healed. They put a lot more things than animal DNA into the test tube they used to create me.”
“Snips and snails and… uh, superhuman healing powers?”
We were having fun, but things just got awkward. Maybe it was that I was about to say “puppy dog tails.” That would have hit a bit close to home.
There’s a moment where we’re both caught in thoughts of the past. I can tell the instant his mind leaves the laboratory he was created in and his attention returns to the kitchen. No. Returns to me.
“You were bossing me around to test me?”
“Yep.”
I use a spatula to slip some butter into the warm pan.
“And I passed?”
“We wouldn’t be alone in here if you hadn’t passed. But you’ve got to promise to use your words if I piss you off. I don’t want to fear you.”
His expression softens, as he leans close, his eyes closing as he inhales my scent. He chuffs, and although I’ve never taken a course in lionspeak, I intuitively know it’s his happy sound. Maybe it’s his sexy sound.
“You can trust me. I will never hurt you. I vow it.”
A vow! That’s more serious than a promise.
I ease back and tell him step-by-step how to scramble eggs. It’s afternoon and we haven’t eaten since breakfast. After having him sprinkle the cooked eggs with cheese, we both eat off the same plate as we stand next to the kitchen island.
I immediately see my folly. This is intimate, something a man and woman would share when ravenously hungry after sex. We’re standing far closer than a woman and a sexy splicer should get.
Sexy. Yeah, I just admitted it. I had a friend who randomly confessed her interest in furries one day when we were on a break at the Culinary Institute. I never admitted it repulsed me.
It doesn’t repulse me now. Noble is intriguing and… handsome in a surreal way. And his tragic backstory and tightly leashed danger only add to his appeal.
I place the fork and empty plate in the sink and say, “Ready for Omelets 101?”
For a male who hadn’t seen a stove until an hour ago, and whose first introduction to cooking was a burn, he’s a quick study. I hate to admit, he catches on more quickly than I did my first day at the CIA, Culinary Institute of America.
With each passing minute, we let down our barriers. He seems less brittle, and more open to instruction.
I watch him cook, only half paying attention to the instructions I’m giving. The other part of me is taking his inventory.
Under his starched Hawaiian shirt and khakis, is a body most men would have to spend all day in the gym to create. Wide, wide shoulders, slim waist, and a bit of a bubble butt that is so appealing I can’t help but picture biting it.
My shock disappeared hours ago, somewhere after his leap for the mouse and before the burned tail. All I see is a perfect body that is made even more handsome because it’s covered in golden fur.
As he plates a perfectly cooked omelet, I realize I’m no longer thinking about how sharp those fangs are. I’m focused on how the burr of his tongue would feel on mine.
Trying to change the direction my thoughts are taking, I ask, "So, how'd you like your first cooking lesson?"
He grins, a hint of a purr in his voice as he says, "I think it went well. I'm getting the hang of it."
I step closer, my eyes sparkling with mischief. "Oh, really? Think you can do it again?"
