“Because he needs me so he won’t die.” I shoot him a look.
“That’s something, right?”
He extends his arm, signaling the end of my stalling. I follow Torrin’s silent direction and head toward the back of the house, glaring over my shoulder when he begins to follow behind me.
Like a moth, I head toward the flame. Or in this case, the room that’s lit up the most toward the back of the house.
As I step through the arched entryway into the huge room, I blink at the scene in front of me. There are candles on the table. The lights, while on, are turned down low. The half a dozen sconces along the wall flicker as if filled with imitation candlelight. When the scent of fresh bread fills my nose, it smells so good I worry I might be drooling. Oh, and I can see it poking out from underneath a piece of white cloth in a basket on the far end of the table. The same end where Donovan is seated at the head of the table. His back is straight. His suit jacket is missing, but his white shirt is there. The top three buttons are unbuttoned, making me wonder if it’s because he never buttoned them up after I touched him earlier. He still looks incredibly attractive and deadly, even with his sleeves rolled up a few times and his hair looking slightly mussed like he’s spent the afternoon running his hand through it.
I tell myself to calm down when he angles his head to the side as if inviting me to the seat to the left of him.
I’m shaking as I cross the room, passing a handful of chairs. Why does he have this big table? Does he host parties here? Does he have this many friends? The questions keep whizzing by in my head, but I’ll never get the courage to ask them.
Torrin pulls out the chair as I reach it, and I nod my thanks to him as I lower myself down. I’m surprised my knocking knees are able to do so gracefully. Donovan looks up at Torrin with a scowl, leaving me feeling as if I’ve missed something. Before I can speculate, dishes of steaming food are being brought to the table. I stare at the green soup with a spiral of cream starting in the middle. Something this color of green is not likely to be appetizing.
“It’s asparagus and leek soup,” Donovan says, his body leaning slightly in my direction, and I’m not sure what to do with the odd softness of his tone.
“Yum,” I say, but I know my face betrays me.
As I look up, his brows pull together like he can’t understand my reaction. As it hits him, he waves his hand, and then someone shuffles over to take the bowl away from me. Feeling like I’ve been rude, I quickly stop them before they touch the bowl.
I’m not sure what I saw in Donovan’s face, but there’s a little kick in my chest that tells me I should try. And I’m not just talking about the soup. Maybe summoning me to dinner is his way of putting himself out there. It’s only fair if I do my best to meet him halfway.
“I’m sorry. I’ve never had anything like this. I’d like to try it.” Okay, that last part might have been a stretch, but I smile through it.
I pick up the spoon and try my best to get it in my mouth without dribbling half of it down my chin like I don’t know howto use utensils. He’s got my mind spinning, my nerves frazzled, and I’m waiting for what’s around the corner.
The soup is not horrible, but it’s not great either. There’s something about it that reminds me of eating baby food, and there is a very strong flavor that kind of makes me want to gag.
He picks up his own spoon and seems to have significantly less trouble swallowing it down. Does he like this? For real? He continues to eat it as if he really enjoys it. I’m just glad his focus is on the bowl in front of him and not on me. I look around, feeling like there are eyes on me, but find that everyone has stepped out of the room.
We’re alone for the moment. Well, as alone as a crime organization boss like him can get, I suppose. I wouldn’t be stupid enough to think that there aren’t bodyguards waiting in the wings, watching without watching, if you know what I mean.
The next course comes, and my bowl is taken away without a word said on how little is missing. Shrimp in some kind of cream sauce over rice. Maybe this won’t be so bad since I don’thateshrimp.
We eat in silence. This dinner is so awkward. I’m wondering why he even wants me here.
“Do you like it?” he eventually asks.
“Yeah, it’s pretty good,” I offer. I flash him a smile that’s probably too wide before I stuff more into my mouth as if I need to prove to him that I love it.
“Wh…” He lets out a harsh breath after the sound. His hand runs through his hair as he inhales and opens his mouth to try again. “Whatdoyou like to eat?”
“I’m not picky, I swear,” I toss out quickly. “I’m just a moody eater, I guess. I’m also not a huge fan of asparagus. Sorry. My adult taste buds haven’t come in yet.”
It takes him a minute, but eventually, I get a twitch of his lips like he is slightly amused by me.
“I like all the stuff that’s not good for you,” I tell him. “Frozen pizza. Corn dogs. Chicken nuggets.” I pause to think for a moment. “Oh! I do love lasagna. Burgers with ketchup only.”
His face is unreadable.
“You eat like a toddler,” he comments, but where I would expect him to sound disgusted, he sounds intrigued. “Do you eat anything good for you?”
“Only if I’m forced to.” I laugh. “I like cucumbers and carrot sticks,” I tell him.
“Let me guess, only if there’s a lot of ranch involved?”
“Oh,” I gasp dramatically and put my hand to my chest, “it’s like you know me so well.” I flutter my eyes at him as a joke, but then my breath catches in my lungs when I see a dark shift in his eyes.
