THERE WERE ABOUT ATHOUSAND things at work that needed his attention, but after seeing the way Sophie froze in the doorway to the store, remembering the first attack—hell, he had to keep reminding himself there’d been more than one—and his neglect of the morning, the least he could do was eat some greasy chicken with her and play a couple of rounds of theArrangement. It hadn’t occurred to him she’d like the same game he did. He’d seen the console at her place but he’d never gotten around to asking her what she liked. The same way he’d never gotten around to asking her why she left Australia or pretty much anything else about her life. Hanging out for a couple of hours, using steampunk weapons to massacre werewolves would be good for that too. Playing in the same room with a real live woman would be a new experience for him. Pathetic, but no one else needed to know that part.
It would give him a chance to ask her some questions without the awkward face-to-face conversation over coffee—tea, in her case—or even worse, in one of the conference rooms at work. Unless Gabe and Andrews shook something loose with the security cameras and found a connection between the attacks, one he didn’t believe existed, he was dead in the water. He’d keep working his contacts at the police department but he really needed a break and quick. Seeing Sophie’s fear had done something to him. He needed to give her back the innocence of her world before the attacks. Deep down, he knew it wasn’t possible but he had to try. He set the bucket of chicken and bags of groceries on the counter. As if it were the most natural thing in the world, Sophie started digging through the bags, pulling out the things that needed to go into the freezer while he dealt with the rest.
“I’m not sure my kitchen’s ever seen this much food,” he said, moving the coffee pods to the side so he could fit a third box of tea in the cupboard.
Sophie put the English Breakfast in the cart, but he’d insisted on adding Earl Grey and some kind of fruity herbal tea. He wouldn’t make the mistake of not having what she liked again.
“You don’t cook?” She handed him a stack of frozen dinners and he piled them in the freezer.
“God no, not unless I have to. What about you?”
“There’s always something else I’d rather be doing.” She met his gaze, her lips curving in a way he’d started to find distracting. Her full smiles could melt his brain but the small quirks—lips, eyebrows—continuously caught him off guard. “When I’m working, I sometimes have to be reminded to eat. It drives Connie nuts.”
Her face clouded for a moment and he wondered if she was thinking back to the night of the attack.That wouldn’t do.
“I’m gone too much to make cooking a priority when I am home. Add in the fact that most of what I’ve attempted has been inedible and it’s just easier to grab takeout. I could get used to this,” he said, closing the door on his newly filled cupboard. “Maybe I’ll try one of those food subscription box things that come with the instructions included so I can’t poison myself.”
“You know putting away groceries isn’t the same thing as cooking, right?” Sophie smiled at him, her eyes impossibly blue.
His heart thudded in his chest and he threw a whole lot of energy into convincing himself his feelings had to do with potential culinary adventures and not the woman standing in front of him. The woman whose delicate scent and even more delicate features brought every protective urge he possessed roaring to life. She was thin—he needed to stop dicking around and feed her—but she wasn’t frail. She was more of a fierce pixie than a homeless waif. The fact that his size dwarfed her just seemed to highlight the difference in their ages and he didn’t need any more help feeling like a dirty old man.
“Very funny.” He reached out to touch her, running a finger under her chin before he had a chance to consider whether it was a good idea—it wasn’t—or not.
Her eyes went wide, and she froze in place, the air between them suddenly charged. If he leaned in, he could kiss her. Take the few steps to close the distance and pull her into his arms. And to cross a line he didn’t intend to cross. Reluctantly, he let his hand drop. If she was disappointed, her face didn’t show it. He wasn’t sure whether that made him feel better or worse.
“Or we could just eat delicious chicken from a bucket and spend the time saving London from the half breeds instead of trying to figure out how to debone a chicken, scale a fish, or whatever it is you do when you cook. It’s going to take time to console you after you lose. I’m not sure there’s time for that and culinary masterpieces.” She held her hands up in front of her and he didn’t bother trying to hold back his laugh. “Just saying.”
“Brat,” he said, grabbing the bucket of chicken and a six-pack of cider they’d picked up at the market. He’d have to add drinking in the middle of the day to the list of things he didn’t normally do but did with Sophie. “Can you grab some plates, or do we have to eat out of the bucket?”
“I’ll get plates, old man, and napkins so you don’t get grease on your controller. I’d hate for you to blame your loss on equipment failure.” She shot him a glance over her shoulder as she reached into the cabinet, and he half expected her to stick out her tongue.
Theold mancrack cut a little too close to home but the challenge about his equipment had his mind going in a completely different direction from the video game. A direction he had no business going. His traitorous body needed to get in line and stay in line. His job was to keep her safe, not wonder how her lips tasted or what it would feel like to have her silky ponytail wrapped around his fist. He needed to keep those thoughts to himself, preferably locked in a box in the closet of his psyche where no one, not even him, would stumble upon them.
“Yeah yeah yeah,” he said, slamming the closet shut on his feelings. “Enough talking. Gabe’s got a profile you can use if you don’t want to have to start from scratch. It’s not as developed as mine but it’s better than playing as a guest.”
He set the chicken and drinks on the coffee table and traded her a controller for the plates. Using his own controller, he turned on the console and let the game load while he filled their plates with fried chicken and biscuits.
“I’ll sign in and then you can log on to Gabe’s profile.” He twisted the cap off a bottle of cider and handed it and a plate full of chicken to Sophie.
“Classy,” she said, raising her bottle in mock toast before taking a sip.
“Nothing but the best at Southerland Security.” He tried not to notice the slender column of her throat as she tipped back her drink.
Concentrating on the food, he took a bite of crispy chicken and narrowly avoided letting the juice run down his chin. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had something as unequivocally indulgent as fried chicken.Maybe the couple of bites of Sophie’s chocolate chip pancakes.She ate like a teenaged boy and appeared to burn the calories just as quickly. That’s where the resemblance ended. He watched as she tucked her feet under her cross-legged and wriggled back into the leather of his sofa. There was nothing boyish about her lithe body and gentle curves. She was all long lines and sexy trouble and despite the thoughts that continued to worm their way into his head, he needed to keep his damn hands to himself.
He was so caught up in trying not to think about Sophie’s curves; it took him a moment to realize she wasn’t signing in under Gabe’s profile. He opened his mouth to correct her and then read the name she’d entered.Severhan.
No way. There had to be a mistake. Some kind of freak coincidence. There was no way the woman he been trying to keep his hands off was the same one he’d been playing with online for months. Flirting with if he was being honest with himself and that was a word a dude could use.
“Sophie?” He stopped at her name, not sure how to proceed.
“Saddle up, Eddington. We’ve got werewolves to fight.” She gave him a quick glance and a moment later, burst out laughing. “I’m sorry. It’s your face.”
“What’s wrong with my face?” he said, latching onto the one clear thought he could grab.
“Nothing, nothing’s wrong with it,” she said, choking back her giggles. “It just looks like your eyebrows are trying to lodge themselves in your hairline. I’m sorry. It’s probably not fair to spring it on you like this.”
“How long have you known?” He was going to stick to the simple questions until he figured out what in the hell was going on.
