Chapter Twenty-Four

Lorn

At this point, I consider myself a bit of an expert in the field of knowing when Rayne is keeping information from me. This time, I don’t feel like delving further. We’ve expressed quite enough to one another. Perhaps I’ll let her keep some of those secrets to herself.

I sip my tea with her legs draped over my lap. I’ve never felt more comfortable with another person. Even Natalie didn’t like this kind of contact. She was always much more into sex only. Once we were done, she’d turn away and go to sleep.

I like this much better.

I watch Rayne from the corner of my eye. Her gaze is intent on the flickering flames of the fire, her face cast in a warm glow from its light. I still wonder what she’s thinking about. Her brows are creased ever so slightly. They reveal concern of some sort. I have to imagine she’s thinking about Larry, and that gets my blood boiling.

“Are you OK?” she asks.

I’ve been glaring into space, thinking about that asshole. I blink. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just plotting some revenge on that stalker of yours.”

Her smile is small as she blinks up at me, her eyelashes fluttering. It’s a shy gesture, which warms my heart. Rayne has no reason to be shy around me. I’ve seen and touched every inch of her body on several occasions. Yet here we are, still learning about one another. Still meeting.

What a strange situation to be in.

I glance out the window. The snow continues to fall. The world outside is a dull gray, and I look forward to the day when it melts and the trees blossom with flowers. Rayne would love it up here in the summer, with the lake nice and cool and the sweet scent of the mountain flowers drifting on the breeze.

Wait, that probably will never happen.

As much as I’ve enjoyed my time with Rayne, it’s never far from my mind that she has every intention of leaving, once she figures out her whole stalker situation. A selfish part of me hopes secretly that we never find him, and that she has to stay with me forever, where I can keep her safe.

Unfair? Absolutely. Does that little asshole part of me care? Nope.

I find more and more that I crave Rayne’s presence in my life. I crave her touch, her closeness, her smiles. Everything about her draws me in, like a siren to a distant sailor. I’m in slippery territory here, but I’m reaching a point where I don’t care.

I want her to be happy.

“Are you hungry?” I ask.

The world outside is growing dark already. It must have taken longer to hike up and down that mountain than I thought. Add in the extra conversations we had on Rayne’s cell phone and, well…

Time flies when you’re hunted by a murderer.

Rayne nods and takes another sip of her tea, draining the cup. “I could eat. Do we have anything?”

“Don’t you worry yourself about it. I’m going to cook dinner.”

Her lip twists into a wry grin. “Really?”

I slide out from beneath her legs and stand. I tower above her, and I take full advantage of my height. I glare down at her with a menacing expression. “Really. You are brave to insult the cooking of the host.”

Her smile broadens. She is completely unafraid. “Yes, I am. I may be many things, but afraid to give my honest opinion will never be one of them. If I didn’t have the ability to provide honest critique, I would have no credibility as a pastry chef.”

I laugh and walk toward the kitchen. “Maybe when this is all over you should consider judging one of those cooking shows.”

“Maybe you can be my intimidating co-judge. Together we can scare the pants off bakers from around the world.”

An image of me in a stupid chef’s hat, sitting at a table while I judge trembling contestants pops into my head, and I give it a firm shake. “I’m good. I don’t think I have a face for television.”

“You would if you shaved that beard,” she says.

I turn back, and she’s silently laughing at me.

I glower. “Are you saying my beard is unattractive?” I ask with menace in my voice.

Her face turns thoughtful as she tilts her head to consider my question. “If you’d have asked me that question last week, I would have said without a doubt. It’s grown on me, if you can believe that.”

“I can. It’s grown on me, too.”

She picks up a pillow and throws it at me for the lame joke. I laugh and catch it with one hand, then toss it back to her. “Before I left, I believe beards were becoming quite the trend in our circles.”

She sighs with exasperation. “They were. Drove me nuts.”

I notice that she uses the past tense. We’re dancing around the fact that she’s saying she’s attracted to me, more so now than when we first met. I could ponder what that means, or I can make dinner.

Best if I stick to food.

I reach into a top cabinet and pull out a cookbook. One of my tenants left it in their cabin one year, and when I called to see if they wanted me to mail it out, they told me to add it to my collection.

It is the only cookbook I own.

I flip through the pages. I want to cook something for Rayne that is more than pasta or scrambled eggs. Unfortunately, the menu can’t be that diverse. All we have is a big pile of eggs, some fruit, and basic pastry ingredients like flour and salt.

As I flip page after page, I land on a recipe for quiche. Not exactly the classiest dinner, but I can do something with the fruit to finish it up nicely.

I think.

I slide my finger along the smooth pages of the recipe book as I read each line through carefully, one step at a time. A quiche will involve a crust that I must make from scratch.

How hard can that be?

“How’s it going in there?” Rayne calls out.

“Fine. You pick up a book and relax. I’ll let you know when it’s ready.”

“Uh huh,” she says.

I pull out the ingredients I need, including the last of the fruit. I’ve got some fresh strawberries and a few apples. I can make a dessert out of that, right?

An idea pops into my head, and I dig through the pantry until I find a bag of chocolate chips tied together with a rubber band.

Ah ha! I’ve at least got a good dessert. That’s the whole point of the meal, right?

I pour some flour and salt into a bowl then melt a stick of butter in the microwave. I mush the ingredients together with my hands, and they clump and fall apart. I use all my strength to try and force the dough to stick together so I can put it into a pan, but it won’t do what I want.

How can anyone like doing this?

“Here,” Rayne says. She’s directly behind me, and I’m startled by how quietly she managed to sneak over here.

“Hey, I told you to rest.”

“Yeah, and I’d also like to eat a decent meal. What are we making tonight?”

I nod to the recipe book, and she leans over it to read.

“Quiche. Nice. That crust looks like you’re trying to beat it into submission. Why don’t we get it a little wet?”

Those suggestive words have my mind reeling. I step back and can’t help but gaze over her perfect frame as she takes over. She pours some water into the pastry, and it instantly does what she wants, forming the perfect mold.

“OK, if you can scramble the eggs and mix in some cheese, that would be helpful,” she says.

In the kitchen, Rayne is queen. She lays out commands in a firm yet gentle way that makes them feel more like a request, something anyone would be happy to do.

As a manager, that is quite the skill to have. When I ran my father’s company for a time, it was something I never handled particularly well.

Just Lorn being the great disappointment, once again.

I crack an egg into a bowl with enough force to shatter it on impact and have to pick out the little pieces.

Rayne glances sideways at me. “You mad at those eggs?”

I shrug. “More like mad at myself.”

“Why?”

I inhale and pick out the last of the eggshell from my bowl before I crack another, more gently this time. “Sometimes there’s this voice in my head that belongs to my father. It reminds me that I’m a failure at everything, and that I’ve never been good enough.”

Rayne frowns. “I hope I didn’t make you feel that way. You can cook, if you put your mind to it, you know.”

I chuckle at that. She thinks my insecurities stem from not being able to make a pie crust?

That’s the least of my problems.

“I appreciate the sentiment, but I’ll never feel bad about my inability to cook. That’s not something I’ve been into, anyway. I was thinking more about my time in prison.”

She doesn’t respond. This might be a sensitive subject for us, but if she runs away from me again over this topic, I’ll eat my hat. She has to know by now I’m on her side.

“Everyone always assumed that I would be a great leader. My father ran a conglomerate. Surely, that would run in the family, right? When I got to prison, I was at the bottom of the hierarchy. The fact that I came from money made me an even bigger target, and I had to learn how to defend myself in ways I never thought possible.”

“That sounds awful,” Rayne says in a small voice. She spreads the crust pastry over my metal pie tin then reaches for the eggs.

“It was. I think a lot of what I learned about leadership came from those dark days. I had to learn how to get people to like and trust me. I had to earn that right. It couldn’t be bought. Up until that moment, I’d never had to worry about such things.”

“What about with the heists? Weren’t you leading those?”

Her tone isn’t judgmental, merely curious. It encourages me to confide in her.

“That was more of a partnership. I never led anything. I provided the right information, and sometimes hung out with the team after to enjoy the victories. The one time I decided to join in was the time we got busted. Figures.”

Rayne’s fingers graze the back of my hand, and I glance up. Her eyes are moist with unshed tears.

Great job, Lorn.

“I’m so sorry you had to go through that. That your dad couldn’t see how amazing you were, and are. You didn’t deserve to be treated that way.”

I clear my throat, which is a little choked up. “Yes, well. Thank you, but I’m fine now. I suppose I’m stronger for it, in the end.”

“We’re all stronger for the battles we face, whether we choose them or not.”

She stirs the eggs and scoops a handful of cheese into them then pours the mixture over the pastry and sets it in the oven to cook. When she turns to look back up at me, her expression is expectant.

“Now what?” she asks.

“How long will that take?”

“About an hour,” she replies.

“Hmm. What are your thoughts on dessert first?”

She grins up at me and crosses her arms. “I’d say that’s one of the best ideas I’ve heard all day.”