“You’re anything but a child, Sweet Bee. Shit would be easier if you were.” His expression is unreadable yet lacking its usual venom as he raises one arm, lifting me so our faces are level. “And I’m capable of hating you from any distance, near or far.” His lips are inches from mine, I can feel his breath against my skin. I think he’s aiming for intimidating but the only vibe I’m getting is protective. Which is really fucking weird. I haven’t felt like this with him since…
Our eyes lock, each searching the other for answers to questions we don’t know. It’s the most intimate thing I’ve ever experienced and my breaths get faster, my chest rising and falling in anticipation, my heart beating so fast it crashes like a wave throughout my body.
The spell is broken pretty quickly when a twinge of pain from my ankle reminds me why I’m here. He keeps calling me that nickname he used when we were kids and it does things to my insides that I don’t understand. Well, I do. I understand them completely. But my body and my brain are at war and I don’t know which one I want to win.
“You’re gonna give me ideas if you keep carrying me like this.” I struggle to get down, but his hold is firm.
“What kind of ideas?” He takes me back to the couch and lays me on the soft cushions, taking his position at the same end as my feet and placing them on his lap.
“Seriously? I have clients that need me. You could have at least taken me home…oh…” Yes, please…
The way Tanner is massaging my left foot, the good one, is enough to silence me, and I rest my head back against the pillow on the arm of the couch.
“Ideas like this?”
“You’re trying to distract me and I don’t know why.” Not that I move, of course, because his distraction is working, and I wouldtry harder to deny it but everything hurts except for that one foot that feels like Heaven.
“For one, it’s almost seven-thirty…” I lift my head and he pauses, looking at me as his thumb does something magical to my heel. “In the evening. I know you like to work late, but you don’t take any clients after seven.”
“That’s surprisingly accurate. Have you been spying on me, Mr. Black?”
He chuckles, a half-smirk lifting one of his cheeks as he shakes his head and sighs.
“It’s chow time. After that, you and I need to talk.” With a final squeeze of my foot, he lifts my legs and stands before placing them back on the cushion. “Stay.” He points at me, then grabs the blanket, throwing it over my legs.
“I’m not a dog you can command.” I give him my best evil glare, squinted eyes and pursed lips, but I must look about as serious as a flying pig because his perma-scowl turns into a sudden grin, and in Tanner’s world, that’s the equivalent of a belly laugh.
“No, you’re not. A dog has better survival instincts. Now, stay. I’ll come back for you.”
If I had the energy to fight him, I probably still wouldn’t. My stomach is rumbling and he’s making food. There’s no way I have the strength to do that myself. A few more hours of sleep should help, like, another twelve, but I can’t miss another day of work or I’m going to have some angry and emotional clients on my hands.
Five minutes later, Tanner is back with a full tray. A plate with a bread roll sits beside a large bowl of thick soup, accompanied by a tumbler glass of fruit juice.
“Thank you. This is…wow.”
He places it on the coffee table and pulls it closer to the couch.
“Is that another one of your sarcastic wows, or a real one?” He smirks, then leaves the room without waiting for an answer and coming back with another tray for himself.
“Do you ever take anything seriously…? Other than the trashcans, of course.” It’s my turn to smirk as I sit up, leaning forward to pick up a piece of fresh bread.
“Don’t get me started on those damn trash pandas.” He faux-shudders before glaring at me, amusement dancing in his dark eyes. “Eat.”
“Are you going to keep ordering me around?” What I don’t say is that I quite like being ordered around by him. It doesn’t feel the same as if it were anyone else. But I’m positive this whole caring act will be over soon enough and he’ll be back to the asshole next door.
“If you’re going to keep being a brat, I’ll do more than order you around.”
That feels like a threat, but my body reacts as though it’s a promise.
“Yeah? And what’s that?” I can’t help it, challenging him comes naturally.
His movement is so swift I barely catch it, but he’s sitting forward on the couch beside me and he grasps my chin between his thumb and forefinger. Twisting my head toward him, he leans into the table and dips his spoon into my soup before bringing it up to my lips.
“Open.”
It’s automatic. My mouth falls, allowing him to push the spoon inside, and I slide the soup off with my lips. It’s delicious, but his cooking prowess isn’t what has me in this dazed trance. The eye contact throughout every movement remains, holding me in place along with his firm grip on my chin. He doesn’t relent as I swallow, he just scoops up another spoonful, and another, and another, until he can spoon no more.
Finally, he releases my chin, placing the spoon in the almost empty bowl.
