leaning his elbows on the counter, watching me as I find my way around. I prepare his coffee, at the same time talking myself down from the edge of a deadly cliff. I also try to think of something else to say that doesn’t include anything I may or may not have heard while hovering on the threshold of his office. Unwanted Coast Guards. Consignments. Distractions.
I’m not surprised by my newfound knowledge. I’m curious, and curiosity in this world gets you killed. Luckily for me, I have a desire to breathe, even if I’m not technically living. “Sugar?” I ask, turning to face him.
“Obviously, I’m sweet enough.”
I scoff, and I don’t apologize for it. Danny Black is about as sweet as hell is cold. “Here.” I slide the cup across the island, and he takes it before I have a chance to remove my hand, pressing my palm into the hot ceramic, keeping it there while holding my eyes. His are blazing. Fire and ice swirl in their depths. I let my stare fall to his neck, where a dusting of hair pokes out the top of his open-collared shirt. And then they drop farther south to our hands on the cup. The heat sinking into my flesh is there, but it’s not there. Nothing is really there when I’m touching him. Close to him.
“Thank you.” He releases his palm and watches me as he takes the cup to his mouth. “I think something’s burning.”
My senses are hyper-alert, but my sense of smell is too busy appreciating his cologne to notice the other potent scent in the room until he pointed it out.
Then I see smoke.
“Shit.” I dart across to the toaster and press every lever on it, trying to eject the smoking bread. No luck. My breakfast continues to burn, the smell intensifying. I glance around the area, searching for anything to dig it out. There’s nothing. “Damn it.” In desperation, I shove my hand in and flick it out, worried I might set all the fire alarms off.
I throw the burnt toast on the plate and stare at the pile of charcoal. “I hope you didn’t kidnap me for my culinary skills.” I look up and find Black with his coffee resting to his lips, still and quiet, watching me. His face is impassive. No amusement whatsoever. We stare. It’s silent. My eyes begin to roam every inch of his face, and his roam over mine. His breathing deepens. Mine becomes strained. I see a million sins in his eyes. And I wonder if he sees the dirt of my life in mine.
The lever on the toaster pops up. It makes me jump, and my eyes snap away from his. I realign my thoughts quickly and take the plate, ready to dump my breakfast in the bin.
“Put the plate down.”
I freeze. Look up at him. “What?”
He slowly places the cup on the island and rounds it, taking the plate from my hand and setting it aside. Then he presses the lever down on the toaster again. “I haven’t put any more bread in it,” I tell him, reaching for the loaf that Esther left. My hand doesn’t make it. He seizes my wrist firmly, stilling me.
Then he guides my hand toward the toaster. The heat on my flesh is instant. So is my confusion. His eyes drill holes into me while he slowly takes my hand down until my palm meets the red-hot heat of the metal. I feel nothing. Am I hardened? Stupid? I don’t know, but I don’t feel what I’m supposed to feel. Pain.
“If you pull away, I won’t stop you.” His statement must trigger something inside of me. Alertness. My nerves spring to life, and suddenly the pain is there. But I don’t pull away, my teeth gritting instead as I endure his torture. It’s nothing in comparison to other cruelties I’ve faced. Nothing compared to other punishments I’ve suffered.
But he’s not punishing me. He’s trying to figure me out.
And me him.
I engage my spare hand and reach blindly for his, our eyes glued. Danny makes it easy for me to find, actually placing his big hand in mine. I bring it over the toaster too. He doesn’t stop me. I press his palm down on top of the metal, right next to mine.
His face doesn’t crack, but his eyes go from simmering heat to a full-blown inferno, his jaw now as tight as mine as we stand there torturing each other.
He won’t pull