BY THE TIME DINNER HAD come around, I was starving. Lucian told me there was a salad waiting for me in the fridge before he disappeared into his office. I popped open the container and took one look at the greens and decided against it.
My frustration drove me to the pantry where I sorted through bins of whole grains and health foods I didn’t even know how to pronounce, let alone cook. The man didn’t own a single microwaveable thing or anything of the pour and stir variety.
Enough was enough. He could eat this way if he wanted to, but I had my own money and my own options. Even though he’d taken away my cell phone, Lucian was still one of the rare people to own a landline, and as luck would have it… a phone book. I scoured through the yellow pages and hit gold. But the minute I began to dial, a shadow fell over me, solid fingers prying the phone from my hand.
“What are you doing?” Lucian scowled.
He was so close that I couldn’t move without touching his body, so I kept my gaze forward.
“Obviously, I was trying to order pizza.”
He closed the book and shoved it back into the drawer from where it came. “We have food here.”
My frustration swelled and ejected from my mouth with all the eloquence of a four-year-old. “I don’t want your stupid, weird food.”
There was a long silence in which I could feel his eyes on me, dissecting whatever it was he thought he could see. “There’s some macaroni and cheese in the cupboard,” he offered. “If you want to make that instead.”
My cheeks heated, and I turned away, so he couldn’t see. “Forget it.”
I tried to leave, but his arm snaked out and caught me. My body was rigid, and he wasn’t respecting my boundaries when he forced me to turn and meet his eyes.
“Gypsy.” His voice was deceptively soft, and his eyes made me think for a split second that he was being nice. “Do you know how to cook?”
“Of course, I know how to cook.” A lie. A big, fat, embarrassing lie. But that was none of his business.
The typical sharpness of his features gave way to compassion, and I hated it. I hated that he thought he had any right to feel sorry for me.
“I’ll just go to bed,” I said. “Let me go.”
“No.” Lucian released me. “You won’t.”
I was prepared to wage a full-fledged war with him until he walked to the cupboard and removed a pot, offering it to me.
“What is this?” I eyed the offending item wearily.
“Come here,” he instructed. “I’m going to show you how to make macaroni and cheese.”
I didn’t want to go. I’d been humiliated enough already, and I suspected this wouldn’t go over well. But I also suspected that Lucian would do something worse to my innocent shoes if I didn’t. At least, that was what I told myself when I forced myself to join him in front of the stove.
He handed off the pan and gave me instructions in the same no-nonsense way he always spoke. “First, you need to add water.”
I used the filtered spout from the fridge and did as he told me, anxiety building in my chest when I realized I didn’t know how much to add. I was too proud to ask, but it didn’t matter because a moment later, I felt his hand on my arm, signaling me to stop. When I turned, he was so close my hair brushed against his jaw. Our eyes locked, and for a second, I forgot how to breathe. I couldn’t deny the power of this man. Not when it was right in front of me.
He was unjustly handsome, his face the kind of beautiful you’d never expect from someone so antisocial. Inwardly, I knew he didn’t feel anything. I’d seen him cold and cruel, inflexible and harsh. But at that moment, his eyes were gentle, and I couldn’t find it in me to break away. I studied the lines of his face, the signs of stray silver hairs on his temples. Something about him made me feel as if I’d been punched in the chest every time I looked at him.
I broke the spell between us and turned away. Lucian took my cue, shaking his head as he retreated and gave me back my space.
“Now it goes on the stove,” he told me, his voice thick with something I couldn’t identify.
“Okay.” I set the pot on the stove, and he continued his lesson, never taking his eyes off me.
He showed me how to light the burner, and then he stood beside me while we waited in awkward silence for the water to heat. The kitchen was hot, and somehow in the space of just a few moments, the tension between us seemed to reach a boiling point.
I followed his instructions for the next ten minutes, emptying the pasta into the pot, stirring, straining, and mixing. Every time Lucian leaned closer and his skin brushed against mine, my heart beat a little faster. I wondered if it was intentional, if he knew what he was doing to me. But when I chanced a peek up at him, I realized it wasn’t just me.
Gazing into eyes so dark, they looked downright predatory, I didn’t have to guess that he was affected too. I could feel the heat rolling off him when he tucked an errant piece of hair away from my face.
“You should wear this back when you cook,” he said in a rough voice.
I nodded because I couldn’t speak, and Lucian seemed to understand that things were getting out of control when his eyes momentarily drifted to my lips. For a split second, I thought he might try to kiss me. But instead, he turned away, scrubbing a hand through his hair before he retrieved a bowl from the cupboard and set it on the counter.
“Eat up, pet. I need to get back to work.”