by Rory Miles
Aw shit. It’s Sloan.
My mouth twitched but I fought the frown. “Smells good.”
He grunted in response and I stifled the urge to roll my eyes. He’d been adamant that I help cook . . . was it because he got stuck with the job? Before I’d interrupted him, he looked to be enjoying himself, so I wasn’t sure how much of a burden the job was. He ignored me, resuming chopping the chicken on the cherry-wood cutting board instead of answering the question. I pushed off the counter, coming to stand in front of the pan.
Cut onions and . . . garlic were cooking in the pan. My lips pursed with a repressed question. I knew how to make soups, which mainly consisted of me chopping everything up and putting it into a big pot to cook for a few hours. Before everything happened with the DMC, I lived with my family. We had a live-in chef because neither of my parents wanted to learn. My family hadn’t exactly been poor; my father had been part of the Plains guards and the king paid his sentinels well.
After I settled in Desert City, I learned a few skills but I’d never learned the finer techniques of cooking. Sherry, Meyers’s wife, had been a wonderful cook. My heart panged. I missed the old man more than ever.
Sloan’s hip bumped mine, scooting me out of the way. I watched as he put the chicken into the now-translucent onions.
“Need any help?” Whatever he was making smelled wonderful and I wanted some.
He gave me a look.
I smiled. “What? Didn’t you say I needed to help cook?”
His lips twitched. “I thought cooking was below you.”
“No. I cook.”
“Oh?” The way he said it made me think he was laughing at me.
“You had my soup.”
He reached over into my space, body brushing against mine. My breath hitched for a second before I realized he was reaching for the spatula by my hand.
“I did,” he said, pulling back and turning the chicken in the pan.
My brows drew down. “You didn’t like it?”
He sighed. “I didn’t say that.”
“But?”
He paused, looking at me with uncertainty.
“It isn’t a trick. I really want to know what you think.”
“Too salty, and you didn’t put enough herbs in it.”
Damn. The soup I had made the day they showed up had been one of my best recipes.
“What are you making?” I asked.
“Nothing special, just a chicken and rice casserole. Will you grab the pot right there and fill it up with one cup of rice and two cups of water?”
I smiled; happy he’d let me help. Grabbing the measuring cup, I placed the pot on the stove. Sloan took the pan off the stove and set it on a towel on the counter.
I stared at the water, willing it to boil faster.
“The more you look at it, the longer it takes,” he chided.
I laughed, stepping away from the pot and leaning my hip against the counter. He hadn’t been that rude yet, so I figured it would be safe to ask him what I’d wanted to earlier.
“Why did you cook the onions like that? Won’t they cook in the oven?”
He tsked at me. “Are you asking me to reveal my secrets?”
“They aren’t secrets. I’ve seen people do that before. I just don’t know why.”
“Hm.” He glanced at the water but it hadn’t started to boil yet. “Well, cooking them before you put the casserole together helps them soften. Plus, the flavor is amazing with sautéed garlic.”
I ran my hand through my hair, trying to figure out the best way to ask him to teach me. I wasn’t sure he’d want to, but if he expected me to pull my weight around the kitchen, he’d be very disappointed to learn I only cooked soups.
He canted his head, knowing what I wanted to ask but still making me speak the question aloud.
“Will you show me how sometime?”
“Show you how to what?” he asked, feigning ignorance.
“If you’re going to be a jerk, forget it.” I turned to leave.
“Wait.” The contrition in his voice gave me pause.
I looked over my shoulder, raising an eyebrow at him. “What?”
“Tomorrow. Be here around five and I’ll show you a few things.”
“Okay.” Settling back against the counter, I stayed and watched him put the casserole together. I couldn’t fight the stupid smile crawling across my face knowing he’d teach me the finer skills of cooking. When he put the dish in the adobe oven, I realized I hadn’t cleaned up from chasing Flynn. I went to go get ready for dinner.
Dirty water filled the washbasin. I cursed, setting down my clothes and pushing through the bathroom door. I found all but Corban now hanging out in the kitchen with Sloan, impatiently waiting for dinner to be ready.
“Listen up, cheese bags. When you use the washbasin, you clean it out. How hard is it for a bunch of grown ass men to clean up after themselves?” Placing my hands on my hips, I glared at each one of them. “Who was the last person to use the bath?”
Sloan smiled. “I’ve been cooking for the past hour. I cleaned up this morning, but I know some people used it after me, so . . .”
Shawn, covered in dirt, laughed when I glared at him next. “You know I haven’t bathed yet.”
Noah and Kace shook their heads, leaving Erik and Bron. They exchanged worried glances.
“What, did you guys bathe together?”
Erik waggled his eyebrows at me. “Maybe.”
Bron scowled at him. “No.”
“Well?”
Bron slid his gaze to Erik.
“Dude!” Erik shoved him. “A little solidarity would be nice from time to time.” He crossed his arms, avoiding my glare.
“Erik. I want to take a bath. Clean it up.”
“Can we revisit the whole letting her stay with us thing?” Erik asked, looking at the others.
Noah shot him a look before gesturing to me. “You heard the woman. Clean it up.”
“Unbelievable.” Erik stormed to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.
Kace’s chuckle made the edges of his eyes crinkle. “We hate it too. Cleaning is not his strength.”
Shawn grunted. “That is a severe understatement.”
“You’re one to talk, Shawn,” Sloan said. “Every time you clean the kitchen, I find dried food on the plates. We’re lucky we don’t have rats.”
“Shove it up your—”
“Settle down.” Noah smiled at me like we shared some inside joke.
Bron shifted. “I’m going to find Corban; dinner is almost ready.”
Erik came barreling down the hall soon after he left.
“Follow me,” he said, brown eyes softening as he extended his hand.
I glanced at Noah. His lips twitched as though my searching for his guidance amused him. Why was I waiting for his approval? Rough fingers grasped mine when I placed my hand in Erik’s waiting palm. He slowly led me toward the bathroom, not saying a word.
He paused outside the closed door.
“I’m sorry. The guys are always on me about cleaning. To be honest, I just don’t like doing it.”
I giggled. “Most people don’t.”
He smiled, eyes warming. “You’re right. Anyways, I’m sorry, I’ll try to do better.”
With a flourish I didn’t think him capable of, he opened the door, sweeping his arm out in a ta-da motion. Steam curled from the basin. Lavender and mint tickled my nose. Bubbles floated on top of the water. I turned to him with wide eyes.
“Thank you,” I said, voice on the verge of breaking. “It’s beautiful.”
He laughed. “If I had known a magical bubble bath would make you this happy, I would have made one the first day we met.”
Holding his face with my hands, I went up on my toes and planted a quick chaste kiss on his lips.
“You make me one of these every night and maybe I’ll let you use my special handcuffs.”
He looked too stunned to speak for a second but quickly r
ecovered. His heated gaze flitted down my body.
“Do you need me to help you?”
I placed my hand on his chest, walking him toward the door.
“I got it from here, big guy.”
I closed the door, locking it for good measure before ripping the clothes from my body. A deep, relieved sigh escaped my mouth when I sunk into the hot, soapy water. The floor creaked in the hallway.
“Go away, Erik.”
“Fine, but you let me know if you change your mind.”
I laughed in response. Pervert.
Chapter Eleven
Sloan’s casserole did not disappoint. Bron hadn’t found Corban, but the men assured me he’d return at some point in the night. I settled into my bed—still the couch—with a full and happy stomach. The chocolate pie for dessert had been rich and almost too much to handle. I’d waited until the men went back into their room, refusing to collapse into a food coma while they were still up.
When light snoring floated down the hallway, a smile twitched on my lips. Without being in the room, I didn’t know who the culprit was, but I’d put my money on Erik. He probably spread out as much as he could on the bed.
I burrowed down into the soft blanket which had magically appeared the day before, too tired to worry about Corban walking in on me sleeping. The room became fuzzy the more tired I grew. My eyes surrendered to sleep, closing with heavy lids.
He chased me through the woods. Not for the first time. This game wasn’t a new one. Daman liked to toy with me, taunting me with hope of escaping. He didn’t fool me. Hope had abandoned me long ago. The first time we had played this game, the evil glint in his eyes when he caught me, I knew. He would never let his inventor go.
A door shut, jolting me awake. Soft sneaking steps followed. I gripped my dagger under the cushion, pulling the blade close without making a sound. The floor creaked near the kitchen. Without hesitation, I threw the dagger. The tip embedded into the wall. A startled yet familiar gasp reached my ears. Thank the goddess I chose to aim for the wall.
“What are you doing?” I hissed the question.
“Did you throw a dagger at me?” Corban asked, his voice a mixture of awe and disbelief.
The wood protested when he pulled the knife free.
“Were you really trying to sneak into your own house?”
He chuckled, walking over and squatting in front of me. Flipping the hilt over and pinching the sharp end between his fingers, he handed me the weapon.
“Thank you.” I plucked the knife from his grasp and tucked it back under the cushion.
“Did I startle you?” he asked, breath heavy with ale.
“No.”
“I don’t believe you.” He leaned toward me, our noses almost touching, his gaze searching my face. “What do you fear?”
I stiffened, not liking this curious side of Corban. “Nothing good sneaks through the night.”
His hair was messy, like he—or someone else—had run their hands through it. I fought the urge to comb my fingers through the mop of hair and fix the mess.
He chuckled. “I suppose not.” He leaned his head against the cushion, groaning in agony.
My fingers twitched and this time I didn’t fight the urge. His blond locks were short and silky smooth against my skin. He didn’t protest or tell me to stop, so I continued mindlessly playing with his hair. His breathing evened out, causing my hands to stop mid-motion.
“Corban?” I whispered the question.
No response came. I smiled, carefully rising from the couch to grab a pillow and blanket. Dropping the pillow at the head of the couch, I frowned when I realized I’d have to maneuver him from sitting to lying. His head still rested on the cushion so I kneeled behind him, wrapping my arms under his and pulling him ever so gently back toward the pillow.
He made a noise but his eyes remained closed, his breathing even. Once I successfully laid him down, I began to cover him with the thin blanket I’d grabbed from the other couch. Crouching next to him, I pulled it up to his shoulders. Satisfied with my handiwork, I began to stand but before I got far Corban’s arms wrapped around me and pulled me on top of him. An unfeminine grunt escaped my mouth.
“Corban,” I chided him and turned in his arms so we were face to face.
His eyes were still closed. “Shhhh. I need to sleep.”
“You need to let me go.” I pushed against him and his grip loosened.
“You can go but I don’t want you to.”
“You’re drunk,” I reminded him.
“I just want to cuddle. I promise I won’t be disrespectful.”
“You’re damn right you won’t. Don’t forget about my dagger.”
He opened one eye, lips tipping up in a lazy smile. “You’re so cool. I’ll never forget that.”
I debated leaving his arms. It had been a long time since I’d slept next to a man for comfort rather than a mindless lay. Deciding to make the most of the opportunity to just be held, I snuggled into his arms.
He chuckled softly. “I knew you’d like it.”
“Shush,” I said, swatting his arm. “I’m trying to sleep.”
He ran his hands through my hair, smoothing it the same way I had for him. I waited for him to break his promise, for the moment when his hand accidentally roamed too far down my back.
“You can relax. I promised to be respectful,” he murmured, half asleep himself. His hand stilled on my back, wrapping me in an innocent hug. Underneath the ale, Corban smelled like freshly split wood and summer rain. The tension in my body melted away when I was sure he wouldn’t try anything. He had fallen asleep, kept his word and hadn’t tried to get into my pants like most drunk guys would. For the first time in a long time, I fell asleep with a smile on my face.
“Well, isn’t this sweet.” Erik’s voice dripped with sarcasm.
Corban moaned, hugging me tighter when I tried to pull away. My leg rose higher on his hips, pushing our bodies even closer. The blanket had slipped down his waist and my cheeks flamed when I felt his morning wood. He either didn’t care or wanted me to know what he had to work with. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t impressed.
“Go away,” Corban said into my hair.
“What if I want to watch?”
I scowled at Erik, whose mouth twitched in amusement. Thankfully he was the only one awake. I wiggled in Corban’s arms, immediately regretting it. My core sinfully caressed his. His fingers floated down my back and dug into my hips.
Fuck, I just stroked him, and damn did he feel good pressed against me.
“I think you should leave,” he told Erik, voice rough from sleep or . . . something else I didn’t care to acknowledge.
“Erik should stay,” I said, slightly panicked. I glanced at Erik, eyes pleading. He crossed his arms, smirking and quirking an eyebrow.
“I’m fine with that.”
Corban hadn’t released my hips yet. I feared moving again: no need to further arouse the man. Especially not with an audience. His sigh blew the hair on my neck and sent shivers down my spine. My back curled ever so slightly. Corban pressed his hips against me, easing the ache I shouldn’t feel between my legs. Sober Corban was a lot more frisky than drunk Corban.
He moved the hair on my neck, fingers brushing against my skin. I closed my eyes, fighting the lust roaring within me. How had he found my sweet spot so easily? Goddess, Erik was right there watching.
When Corban’s lips caressed my throat, my weakness, I forgot all about who stood a mere foot away. They were soft, igniting fire in my veins. He moved down my neck, kissing my pulse point before biting it in the most deliciously infuriating way.
I bit my lip, suppressing a moan. His mouth pulled into a smile against my skin before he moved to the other side of my neck, occasionally rolling his hardened length against my center. My traitorous legs fell open, my treasonous hips tilted up and met his with a fervor that ashamed me. He wrapped his fingers in my hair, using it to pull my head back just enough to make me cur
ious. He didn’t pull hard but held me firm in his grasp as he scraped his teeth against the other side of my neck, alternating between nipping and kissing.
When his lips left my skin, I was a panting mess. He dropped a chaste kiss on my lips, as if he hadn’t been driving me crazy. Not caring about the consequences, I pulled him back, teasing my tongue against his lips. He opened them for me and kissed me properly. Erik coughed, bringing me back to reality. I thanked the goddess we were both still fully clothed. I pulled away from Corban, cheeks flushed with desire.
“Good morning,” he said. His icy blue eyes had turned a stormy gray.
“Morning,” I said, voice breathy. I glanced up at Erik, who was no longer amused. No, Erik had been enjoying that as much as we were, if his face and strained pants gave any indication. Apparently he hadn’t been joking about watching. Perhaps there was something more to explore with him and Corban.
Was I drunk? More to explore with him and Corban? What made me think Corban would even go for it? Or that it would happen again? Moreover, why did I want it to happen again?
“Let me make you breakfast,” Corban said, pushing off the ground. He discreetly adjusted himself before going to the kitchen. I lay on the floor half in shock, half in awe. He wanted to make me breakfast.
Erik laughed. “Don’t look so surprised.”
I rolled over, placing my chin in my hands and waggled my eyebrows at him.
“Did you like that?”
He swallowed, throat bobbing. I found it odd he suddenly became nervous instead of playful.
“Did you want me to?” he asked, eyes searching mine. He was serious.
I pursed my lips. Fuck it.
“Yes.” I gave him a coy smile. He tilted his head, as though he didn’t know how to react to such honesty.
“Good,” he finally said, nodding in satisfaction before joining Corban in the kitchen.
I dropped my head onto Corban’s pillow. What the fuck just happened?
Smiling at Sammie, I waved to her and searched for Flynn. I was a few minutes late to our breakfast meeting but I hadn’t expected him to leave. He wasn’t sitting at any of the bakery’s tables. Casting my gaze to the crowded thoroughfare, I saw the old woman who had scowled at me when I’d been with Corban. She sat, watching something with rapt attention. As if sensing my attention, the woman turned toward me. Her eyes were vibrant blue. She lifted her hand, pointing at whatever she’d been watching. I drew my eyebrows down in confusion.