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Speak No Claim

Page 78

by M. Robinson

This time, my gaze connected with his. He looked almost amused, but at the same time endeared by me.

“It’s just food.”

“That you made from scratch for me?”

Like a true Peruvian, I simply stated, “I made enough to feed an army. I can bring you more if you like it.”

Obviously enjoying the attention, he baited, “Did you poison it?”

I smiled. “I guess you won’t know until you try it.”

He joked. “You first.”

I played along, eating a bite off the spoon. Impressed with how great it tasted.

He called me out, “Pleased with yourself?”

“We’ll see.” I scooped another bite with chicken and a piece of potato and fed it to him.

“You keeping me alive?” He grinned.

“Does that mean you like it?”

“I like that you made it.”

I bowed my head, filling another spoonful for him.

“Hennessy.”

I glanced up at him.

“I like it.”

A smiled, not trying to hide it.

For the next fifteen minutes, I fed him as if I were his own private nurse. Once he was finished, I gave him his pain meds that had a big red warning label that stressed not to handle heavy machinery or drive because it causes drowsiness.

Next, I washed the bowls and silverware in the sink at his bar in the corner of the room, then dried them with a towel I threw in his hamper when I was done.

I turned to see his expression had changed. He looked almost alarmed.

“What?” I blurted.

“Nothing, come here.”

Shaking it off, I walked past the back of his computer screen, making my way toward him.

Unable to oppose, I addressed the elephant in the room, “Did you really take a lashing from the Brotherhood because you kissed me?”

“Fucking, Caspian…” he rasped under his breath.

“Then it’s true?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

Putting the containers and silverware away in the bag, I pointed out, “It does to me.”

He considered it for a moment. “The damage is done.”