Page 34 of Darkest Kiss

Noemi studies me for a long moment, hunting for the catch. There isn't one this time. I pray that she sees that.

"Fine," she says. "I'll wait until the coast is clear. But not forever, Rian. The day it's safe, I'm gone."

She takes another sip of her soda, looking away.

She doesn't want us, Beast says, and for once he isn't goading me. He's just stating the obvious, the expectation I’ve built my whole life around. Nobody has wanted me.

Why would she be different?

"The day it's safe," I agree, though it’s painful, "you're free."

I set the toast back down in front of her, because it's the one kind thing I'm allowed to do right now. And then I go stand at the window so she doesn't have to watch me fall apart.

Chapter Eight

Noemi

Three days later, I’m watching Rian try to cook for me. He stands at the stove of his absurd penthouse kitchen with his sleeves shoved up, frowning down at a mandolin like it owes him money.

I have the luxury of sitting at the kitchen counter and watching him. He moves through the world impatiently. Yanking drawers out, gritting his teeth as he slices things, looking like he has never been in a kitchen before, much less has the patience for it.

"You usually have a chef?" I ask. It comes out as if I don’t want him to cook for me. And I don’t have a problem with that, per se.

But he fumbles through the kitchen like a grizzly bear scrounging for food. It’s a little painful and scary to witness.

“No.” Rian doesn't look up. "Someone comes in once a week to clean. And of course there’s my valet, Justin. People in my space make me… twitchy."

“Huh. But you force me to stay because…?”

“I need you here,” he says simply. “And it’s safe.”

“Right.” My tone is droll. After recovering somewhat, I’ve found my sarcasm again. “So you’ve said.”

It’s not even that weird anymore. I've been in this man's penthouse for days and the list of things I've stopped flinching at keeps getting longer. I perch on a stool at the island and watch him work, because there isn't a lot else to do.

And because, god help me, he's interesting to look at. Attractive, tall, blond in a way that makes him seem like a freak of nature. Honestly, he’s making me wonder if I have always had a thing for huge, growly guys.

Is it possible that I just haven’t known any? My cheeks heat and I look down at my hands.

“Can I ask you a question?”

He nods, not looking up from his knifework. “Anything, Noemi.”

“Were you… um… following me? Before the auction, I mean.”

Rian nods. “I shadowed you every day for the past few months. One look at you, and I lost the choice to do anything else.”

I glance up at him sharply. “You stalked me.”

My words aren’t as much an accusation as they are a confirmation of facts.

“That’s not the word I would use.” He looks up at me, his green eyes pinning me in place as he licks a drop of liquid from his thumb. “I prefer to say that I was keeping you safe from a distance.”

A huff breaks over my lips. He’s delusional. “Right.”

Rian plates the food he’s been chopping and slides it in front of me. I look down, ready with a bitter word, expecting to keep sparring. Suddenly, my whole chest goes tight in a way that has nothing to do with panic and everything to do with memory.

Orange and olive salad. Thin-sliced oranges, good oil, the dark wrinkled olives my mother used to drive across town to buy. Red onion, shaved thinner than paper.