“Did you have a good time with Olivia?” I asked.
She nodded, smiling wider.
“Good. Are you tired?”
Zoya shook her head, but her yawn told the truth she wasn’t ready to admit.
I smiled at her, my brows raised. “You wanna try that again, kiddo?”
She was still smiling, a soft giggle escaped that was so low I nearly missed it.
That sound of her laughter, her genuine happiness nearly brought me to my knees. “I didn’t think so. Come on, Sleeping Beauty, bedtime.”
Without argument, Zoya slid off the bed and went to her dresser to pick out pajamas and underwear. I filled up the bathtub, letting her choose which scent she wanted and listened while she splashed in the tub for about three minutes before she got bored and finished. She tilted her head back and waited for me to wash and rinse her hair, lifting her arms up so I could wrap a towel around her and plucked her from the tub.
“Now you smell like a peach.” I kissed her forehead and towel dried her hair before spraying it with detangler and brushing it out. “And now you look like a peach too.”
She smiled and hugged me, not giving a damn that her damp body wet my t-shirt. The routine was the same but tonight it felt different when she slipped into her pajamas and under the blankets with a book already on her lap.
“Story time?”
She nodded, holding a book about a kitten who snuck into fancy homes to eat their fancy food.
I loved the way she snuggled into me as I read, her head tucked under my arm so she could see the vibrant drawings. Iread the story using distinct voices that made her smile until I felt her body go slack against me. She looked so peaceful like this, so worry-free, and I hoped tonight was a night without a nightmare. With a soft kiss I tucked her in and left the door slightly open so she could hear me if she woke up scared.
Guilt punched me in the gut because I knew that no matter what I did or how fiercely I protected her, there was nothing I could do to protect her from the memories that kept her silent.
I had to figure out what it was.
Right now I needed food and booze, not necessarily in that order, and now that Zoya was asleep, it was time to do just that.
Except Eliana was already in the kitchen, which meant I couldn’t avoid her. She stood in the kitchen wearing leggings and a tank top, her curls tied on top of her head with a bandana. She stood there with her back to me, giving me far too long to admire the way the leggings hugged her ass, the gap between her thighs. The strip of bare skin on her lower back.
Fuck.
I didn’t think I made any noise, but Eliana glanced over her shoulder, looked me up and down and sighed. She turned away and finished doing whatever she was doing at the counter. She turned with two plates, dropping into the first seat at the kitchen table before sliding a small plate with a sandwich on it across the table.
I looked at the sandwich and hunger took over. I sat down and pulled the plate closer, saying, “Thanks,” before I took the biggest goddamn bite I could. She’d made a proper fuckingsandwich with real bread, fresh tomatoes, spicy mustard, and pickles. “So fucking good,” I mumbled around a second big bite.
She nodded but said nothing, just kept her gaze fixed on her plate or the spot right in front of her face.
Asshole.
Apologize. Tell her why you acted like a fucking insensitive idiot.
“You don’t have to cook for me,” I said eventually. “I appreciate it, but it’s not a job requirement.”
“I have to eat,” she answered simply. “And as you can see, I love to eat.”
She wasn’t fishing for compliments, but I hated that flat tone, devoid of all spark and warmth, that said she thought there was something wrong with her body. I frowned at her. “What’s that mean? Your curves are beautiful.”
She laughed. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what,” I shot back. Fighting the urge to add,Don’t tell you that I stood and stared at your ass for far longer than I care to admit? That I thought about sliding my cock between that gap at the top of your thighs? I won’t say any of that because I’m your boss, but the thoughts are there.
Yeah. Given the state of things between us she didn’t need to know that I’d been jacking off in the shower to thoughts of her ass.
She stared at me, her brows knitted together, almost like she could read the filthy fantasies going through my head. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t mind cooking,” she said, surprising me.Her mouth tightened as if she didn’t want to say anything. “Or in this case slapping together a sandwich.”
