She smiled at him over her shoulder as they entered the dark kitchen. Her eyes looked bruised. “Don’t tell me you’re going to over-analyze this. What’s the point? Like I said, it’s over. Let’s move on.”
He was afraid she was right. It was over, and it was time to move on.
She flicked a switch that lit up the track of lights above the stove. “Since no one is here, will you let me cook for you?” The hopeful look she gave him when she turned branded itself into his heart.
“I would rather you sit. I will fix something for you.”
“Don’t be silly. I feel like I just shot a pot of espresso. I need to move.” She proved she was fine when she skipped over to the refrigerator in the silver nightgown he’d put her in earlier.
He watched her root around as he walked to the far wall to turn on the rest of the lights.
He watched her as he came back to the island.
He watched her as he sat and tried to deny what this was.
And as he realized he couldn’t, he watched her.
Because it would be the last time he would have the pleasure.
♦ ♦ ♦
As Yasmeen took bread, eggs, and milk out of the fridge and whipped up some French toast, she felt Lucian’s observation. Already she was trying to deny the pain inching in. And she wasn’t referring to the stinging ring she could feel around her neck. Every time she swallowed, it felt as if glass shards were mixed in with her saliva.
He almost killed you.
She ignored the anxious voice she hadn’t heard since she’d woken in the limo that first day here.
It was an accident. Just one of those things, she defended. He didn’t mean it.
With that settled, she chattered while she worked. “I know you’re used to something fancier, but Miranda loves my French toast. Says she doesn’t get how something so simple can be so good. She’s a nightmare in the kitchen; Eric is not. He’s a chef at Pour Moi. Have you ever been there? Miranda’s so proud of him. She stands back and allows him to rule his domain when it comes to their kitchen. Me and Kristen—remember, my other roommate from college? When we all lived together, Kris and I did the cooking. Miranda did the eating and cleaning up. I doubt you ever met Kristen. I know you and her stepbrother are friends, but she’s been in Paris for a while now. How friendly are you and Vex? Or are you just associates? Do you do business with him? What’s he like? The way Kristen talks about him, you’d think he was a god.”
She grabbed a couple of forks and carried two plates over to the table. She ducked her head and smiled when she saw Lucian’s focus go to her throat.
“Hey, up here. We’re good. It’s just a scratch.” She placed his breakfast in front of him. “Let’s eat, okay? It’s nothing. Do you want coffee or juice?”
He shook his head and took her wrist to bring her over and settle her in his lap. She put her plate down next to his and curled against him, trying to memorize the way he felt.
“Let me.”
She nodded, not about to argue when he took a fork and cut a piece of the toast. He dipped it in syrup, waited for a drip to fall to the plate, then brought it to her mouth. She took it, then did things her way by picking up a triangle with her fingers. Breaking a piece off, she prepared it and offered it to him. She kept a small smile on her face, refusing to allow it to leave even though darkness was invading her like a disease. This was familiar.
“It is not nothing.”
She fed him another piece and shifted so she was straddling him. She snugged up closer, holding him between her legs as she watched him chew. “Talk to me about the horses you keep here. I met the one but haven’t seen the other yet. Can you give me a lesson tomorrow? I’ve never ridden.”
“The lesson will have to wait.”
“Why? I’m good, Lucian. Honest. Don’t put it off for nothing. Let’s do something…normal. Please.”
He placed the fork down on the table. “I almost killed you, Yasmeen.”
“No.” She dropped the toast on the plate and grabbed his face. “You didn’t. You wouldn’t have.”
“I would have choked the life out of you if Markus had not stopped me.”
That made her pause.