I wouldn’t say that I’m a great cook.
By no means am I a pro in the kitchen. I know the basics, sure, but any recipe that requires more than thirty minutes of cooking is a no-go for me.
I thought my skills needed work, but it turns out, compared to Kane? I could open a fucking restaurant.
The guy only knows how to cook two things: a grilled cheese and an omelet.
That’s it.
After he dragged me down to the kitchen, he went straight for the fridge. Too bad Scar already munched his way through the leftovers Sue put in there.
I started to feel light-headed, and it quickly became clear that if I wanted to eat, I would have to cook something.
Problem is, Kane is way too stubborn to allow that to happen, and he’s been telling me to sit down for ten minutes, searching the internet for a recipe easy enough to whip up in the middle of the night.
I wasn’t going to say anything, but I’m this close to entering “hangry” territory, and he seems completely overwhelmed by the recipes on his screen.
“It doesn’t have to be a gourmet meal.”
“Yes, it does.” He squints at his phone, zooming in on the ingredients for whatever fancy meal he wants to make me.
I catch myself smiling at how determined he is.
“Why don’t you just make me an omelet?”
He hesitates for a bit but eventually comes to his senses. “I’d argue, but I don’t have a fucking clue how to make—” He checks his phone once more. “—scallops on buttery parsnips with caviar.”
A laugh leaves my mouth. “Good. Now, chop, chop before I eat my hand.”
The shadow of a smile spreads across his face as he makes his way to the fridge to grab what he needs.
The time on the stove reads 12:49, and I should be sleeping like the dead by now. I work at eight in the morning, and the last thing I need is Ania telling me to look alive while she’s lecturing me on all the things I’m doing wrong.
Not that my lack of sleep will make much of a difference. She’d find something to complain about even if I were the most rested woman on Earth.
It doesn’t help that I’m wide-awake and more stimulated than ever. Not even an hour ago, I thought I was going to fall asleep if I closed my eyes for too long.
Then Kane showed up, and my energy levels rose like I’d just downed a thousand shots of espresso.
I sit on the counter behind me, watching Kane grab a pan out of the kitchen island’s drawer. “So, tell me, Chef Wilder, how come the only things you know how to cook are grilled cheeses and eggs?”
He had it right earlier.
I’m being way too nice to him.
Maybe because he’s acting like the guy I used to know right now. Or maybe because I needed a night off from hating him. That shit is exhausting, and work is draining me enough as it is.
I’ll just go back to hating his guts tomorrow.
“It’s what the guys and I would make on the bus after a show,” he says, probably referring to his touring band, and cracks two eggs into a mixing bowl. “You want cheese in it?”
“Sure.”
I scan the food he’s gathered on the counter. Tomatoes, spinach, pre-shredded cheese, and mushrooms. I figured he’d give it to me plain, but I appreciate that he’s making an effort to make it good.
I watch as he gets to work, analyzing the ink on his tanned forearm. It’s a continuation of the bleeding rose tattoo on his shoulder, and fuck, there’s something… strangely attractive… about the way the muscles in his arms flex as he whisks the egg with a fork.
Did I just think that?
I get that I’ve been going through a dry spell, but I did not just get turned on by a guy whisking eggs.
What the fuck, Hadley?
I tear my eyes away, the urge to run for the hills building with each passing second. I don’t like what being around this guy does to me.
I feel like little Hadley all over again, fantasizing about the one guy she shouldn’t want, and I will not allow myself to get back into that headspace.
I need to get away from him.
“Hey, on second thought, I’m really not that hungry.” I try to slide off the countertop, but his arm flies out to stop me.
He doesn’t look at me, though, keeping his eyes glued to the task at hand as he holds out his arm in front of me to block me in. “You’re fucking shaking, Hadley. You’re not leaving until you eat.”
I glance down at my fingers, the familiar tremor in my hands unmissable. This crap happens every time my blood glucose drops too low.
Doesn’t stop me from planning my escape. “I’m okay, really. I’ll just grab a granola bar or something.”
Every nerve in my body springs to life when his large hand wraps around my knee. I zero in on his rings, swallowing hard when his fingers dig into my flesh, holding me in place.
“Not a chance.” His irritated growl sets my skin on fire.
Need. To. Leave.
Now.
“But I—”
His head snaps up, and he levels his gaze with mine. “I practically forced water down your throat when you were drunk. Do you really want to fight me on this?”
I read him loud and clear. I’m not getting out of this room until I’ve eaten that entire omelet and he’s watched me do it.
And if I won’t do it, he’ll make me.
How can he be so sweet one second and so damn demanding the next?
I never know which version of him I’m going to get.
The nice, friendly Kane or the Kane who looks at me like he wants to devour me from the inside out and would gladly take me over his knee if I were to dare disagree with him.
I curse myself for wishing he’d mark my thigh with his fingertips, but not as much as I hate how quickly he pulls his hand away.
I decide trying to leave again wouldn’t be a smart move and I have no choice but to wait for him to finish cooking.
The tension slips away as the minutes tick by, and relief washes over me. I can breathe properly again, and it’s because I can breathe again that the smell of burnt food immediately tips me off.
“You need to flip it,” I tell him.
He doesn’t listen, shrugging off my advice. “I have it under control.”
“I’m serious! Flip it, or it’s going to burn.”
It isn’t long before I take matters into my own hands, leaping off the counter and pushing him out of the way with my hips so that I can take his place.
That he lets me do, but not without regaining his position in front of the stove. Standing a few steps behind me, he cranes his head to look over my shoulder. I swipe the spatula out of his hands and flip the omelet myself.
Just as I expected, the other side is burnt, but not so burnt that I won’t be able to eat it.
The dark chuckle fanning the nape of my neck tells me I just made a mistake. “Well, shit. I can’t even make an omelet right.”
My legs seem to weigh a thousand pounds all of a sudden, and I keep my eyes straight ahead of me, poking at the omelet with the spatula.
My pulse rises when Kane moves forward, the feel of his chest against my back making me question everything. I can feel his body heat envelop me from behind, and I try to play it off like I didn’t even notice.
His breath crashes along my neck once more, and I stiffen up. Now, you listen up, you good-for-nothing body. Don’t you dare shiver, or I’ll—
Stupid idiot.
It’s his delicious smell, his presence, the feel of him against me. The mix is too much to handle, and my arms break into goose bumps, my upper body shaking… and it’s not because of hunger.
It’s getting harder to pretend nothing’s happening, and when he reaches out to push my red hair off my shoulder, I wonder if I should call him out on it.
I open my mouth, but the only thing that comes out is a sharp gust of air as he presses himself into me.
I feel something.
Something hard.
And I’m officially off my rockers because I don’t recoil or push him away, heat settling into the lower part of my stomach.
He doesn’t say anything, but his hand curls around my hip and applies pressure, pushing me against him so that our bodies are molded together.
I expect him to release my waist, but he doesn’t. His grip is almost painful, but I don’t want him to let go.
And when his cold hands slide under the hem of my shirt, little zaps of electricity shoot through my spine.
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit.
Do something.
Because it’s on a mission to ruin me, my body complies. But it does the opposite of what I had in mind. Like a fucking monster took hold of my senses, I start to rub my ass against him.
The pressure is subtle but definitely noticeable because a sharp breath hisses between his teeth.
His fingers begin slithering up the bottom of my stomach, and while his hands are warmer than before, they’re still ice-cold and torturous as they draw little circles on my skin.
I continue to rock against him, owning it, and the blaring voices in my head call me every name in the book.
He answers by shifting his hips, pushing into me, and I gasp, his cock driving forward until I feel it swell against my ass.
I almost think I’m going to realize my mind concocted the whole thing and none of this is real until he puts his mouth to my ear.
“Hads…” He sounds like he’s mad at me, his voice thick with anger and repressed urges. His mouth grazes my neck, ever so slowly and delicately.
That’s when I do the one thing I shouldn’t.
I angle my head back to look at him over my shoulder, our gazes locking with so much force it’s paralyzing. Kane’s eyes immediately dart to my mouth, and I swear something unnatural is at play here. I don’t know how else to explain how quickly we both lean in.
Kane’s hand jumps to the back of my head, his fingers sliding into my hair and gripping my scalp so that he can tilt my chin back. He stares at my face for long seconds, the low grunt he expels fanning my lips.
He makes a play for my mouth, inching forward.
Then the fire alarm goes off.
You’d think a powerful entity just yanked us apart.
“Fuck,” Kane blurts at the smoking omelet on the stove.
It’s completely ruined, both sides blackened and carbonized.
The alarm kicks me into action, and I grab the drying towel by the sink. I hop onto a kitchen chair and wave the towel in front of the fire detector before it wakes up the whole house.
There’s no way Mom, Evie, Sue, Scar, and Drea don’t hear that. And it shouldn’t be too long before they roll out of bed to make sure the house isn’t burning down.
Meanwhile, Kane takes the pan to the trash, dumping the charred omelet into it before twisting the water tap to soak the pan.
A sigh of relief escapes me when the alarm stops, but the one in my head isn’t going away anytime soon.
I almost kissed Kane.
Not once, but twice in the same night.
His eyes find me across the room, and we exchange a look that can only mean one thing.
What. Just. Happened.
“I, um… I’ll just make myself some toast or something,” I choke out.
He seems to pick up on my panic because he clenches his jaw, barely saying, “That’s probably a good idea.”
More silence.
I think I see his Adam’s apple bob before he gives me a final glance. “Anyway, good night.”
“You, too” is the last thing I say before he walks out.
I wish I could say everything went back to normal after the burnt omelet incident.
Unfortunately for me, our almost kiss opened up a whole new can of worms. I’ve been on this hamster wheel of thinking about Kane, getting all hot and bothered and hating myself for it ever since.
That night opened my eyes to the sizzling attraction I still feel for him.
I want him.
Just physically, but still.
And I take it from the way his cock strained against his pants that he wants me, too. Even if just for one night. I’ve done a pretty good job at pretending like what happened didn’t faze me, and Kane?
Kane did what he always does.
He went back to avoiding me.
Five days have gone by, and believe it or not, I’ve found Ania’s critiques to be a nice little distraction from reality. I welcome the long shifts now. I’ve even agreed to fill in for Jamie, who has a dentist appointment next weekend. Anything to stay out of the house.
The first floor is empty when I unlock the front door at around 8:00 p.m. I can hear Mom and Evie laughing uncontrollably in the backyard.
They’ve been having the time of their lives reconnecting, going to the country club and going on all sorts of adventures—they’re already planning a trip to Virginia to visit a bunch of vineyards next summer.
I may not be a fan of sharing a house with Kane, but I’m happy for my mom. I can take a couple months sleeping down the hall from the boy who broke my heart if it means Mom gets her best friend back.
I take the stairs two at a time on the way to my bedroom. I was hoping to do a little painting before bed. I haven’t finished the one of the storm.
As much as I hate to admit it, the way Kane’s mouth felt grazing my neck isn’t all I’ve taken away from that night. I’ve also been thinking about what he said.
About me giving up on my dreams.
After giving it a lot of consideration, I’ve decided to publish my website and give my dream a real try.
I’ve been sitting on the domain I bought for years, and I intend to get it up and running once I figure out how to complete the website design.
I pad down the hall toward the sunroom. I’ve pretty much claimed the room as my painting studio in the past two days. Although, I’d have no problem moving if Kane wanted to use the piano.
But that would require him playing music, and his mom let slip that he hasn’t been writing as much since he got here—something that’s highly unusual for Kane.
She’s worried sick about it. The guy supposedly pops out at least four to five songs a week, but lately? He hasn’t even wanted to touch his guitar. Or a piano, for that matter.
I get that he’s supposed to be taking a break from the industry, but his mom never would’ve thought he’d want a break from music, too.
I turn the corner a few minutes later, push the door to the sunroom open, and flick the light on.
I gasp when I see the supplies.
There are paint tubes, canvases stacked against the wall, and brand-new sets of paintbrushes laid out on the table.
I could never afford so many supplies.
Not even in my wildest dreams.
I approach the table and notice there’s a piece of paper on it.
I immediately know who’s behind this.
Because I’ve said those exact words before.
And I’ve said them to Kane…
It’s only impossible if you don’t try.
