If he’d asked me in any other way, I wouldn’t have hesitated in shutting him down, but the almost nervous way he’d asked took me off guard. I rolled my lips between my teeth.
No, I couldn’t do it; if I did, that would give him an impression I wasn’t trying to make. I shook my head.
“Let me know if you need anything else.”
His mouth became pinched, but I wasn’t giving in and sleeping with him, even if it meant I’d run back and forth all night.
“Josephine,” he called, stopping me right before I strode down the hall. I poked my head back into the room.
“What if I need something in the middle of the night?” From the determination on his face, I could tell he wasn’t going to give in.
“Then just shout for me,” I bit out.
“But—”
I’d truly met my match in stubbornness.
“You’ll be fine,” I shuffled my ass back to the bedroom.
As soon as I plopped on the mattress, he shouted, “Josephine!”
It would be a long night.
14
Istood in Lucian’s kitchen, hands propped on the counter, and head bowed. Five more days had passed.
Cooking had been a damn fail. I was struggling—severely—but theattemptat cooking, the cleaning, and the random jobs I found around the house were enough to keep me busy while also giving me a valid reason to keep my distance from Lucian.
I’d used any excuse to avoid him. He had the power to wear down my determination, and I couldn’t have that. I pushed off the countertop and straightened, rolling my shoulders.
With a sigh, I got to chopping the zucchini into pieces, needing to add them to the pot last. A soup my dad used to make for me all the time, especially when the weather cooled. He liked to tell me stories of Mom making the same dish.
It had been my dad and me for a long time, but there was a time when Mom was in the picture before cancer took her out. It would have been nice if being a shifter meant you had superhuman immunity to illness, but alas, that wasn’t the case.
“What are you making?” The click of a crutch entered the kitchen. I quickly dropped the knife and hurried to help Lucian to the chair, propping one shoulder under his armpit.
“What are you doing up is the better question?” He carefully sat, and I scowled down at him.
“I missed you.” With that phrase, he rendered me silent.
“Did you shower?” I narrowed my eyes at him, completely avoiding his comment. The tips of his damp hair plinked onto his bare chest. I ripped my eyes back up to his face.
He grunted.
“Lucian,” I scolded. I’d helped him shower the last time. He’d been so grouchy the entire time, but at least he’d let me. I did it as quickly as possible because the suds running down his chest made me want him—bad.
It didn’t help that his cock was hard the entire time.
“I managed just fine,” he muttered. I crouched to scan the cast, which wasn’t wet.
“Fine.” I stood and returned to what I was doing.
“What are you making?”
“Albondigas.”
“Al-what?” Lucian’s eyebrows scrunched together.
