Caged Kitten (All the Queen's Men #2) - Rhea Watson Page 0,34

I considered making a deal with the kingpin of this hellhole, but hearing that… It was another option gone. Zip. Out of the question before I’d even really considered it. Stewing in that new and unsurprising knowledge, I fell into a dough-rolling rhythm in silence. If I focused on making my little balls as perfect as the ones Elijah so effortlessly crafted, I wouldn’t wander down my mind’s more depressing paths. Unfortunately, the penitentiary brought that out in you—all this time alone, locked in your cell, sequestered away from guards and other inmates, there wasn’t much else to do but think.

Well… and work. If I was destined to be here six days a week in the sweltering heat, the dim lighting, standing beneath dead, dangling roots and next to a dragon shifter who made me feel, then the bakery might just be the best distraction around.

“I’m sorry, Katja.”

Every inch of me lit up at the sound of my name coming from his mouth, laced in a gravelly growl that made my heart sing. Katja. So personal. So forward. So mouthwateringly familiar. I braced myself, grabbing another chunk of dough from the mountain and hoping he couldn’t see me blush.

Why did he affect me like this?

Hot guys had said my name before. It didn’t matter then, and it shouldn’t now—but it did. If my body reacted this way, annoyingly consistent around some gorgeous dragon clocking in at, what, six seven, maybe six eight, so tall and broad and powerful and—

And…

Damn it. What was the point of that thought again?

A shiver sliced through me when he glanced my way, his eyes so warm and comforting.

Remorseful, too, something I so rarely saw in supers or shifters. Snooty bunch, our kind. We almost always thought we were right, no matter the reality of the situation, and don’t even get me started on the hierarchy. Each community thought they sat at the top, then the rest were ranked accordingly.

And not always favorably either.

“I’m sorry for drawing attention to you,” he added after a beat. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, and I glared down at my hands when they trembled, fingers fumbling with their current dough ball. Elijah exhaled sharply and wiped a bit of flour off his cheek with his shoulder. “I know I did it… I knew it in the moment. I didn’t mean to, but I just… I can’t help it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I think you already know.”

My hands stilled, squishing my perfect ball flat again. Frankly, I didn’t know what any of it meant—didn’t understand why his mere presence influenced me. Hated the fact that he had a hold on me, so effortless in the way his body made mine react…

In the way his body almost… controlled mine.

Nope. Do not like.

I shook my head. “No, but—”

“Even if you don’t know what it means,” Elijah rumbled, “you feel it.”

He faced me, still planted in place around the corner of the table, and my knees threatened to buckle under the full weight of his stare. All this time, I’d thought it was just me feeling like my insides were on fire; I hadn’t put too much thought into wondering if the sensation was mutual. But when he reached over and nudged my hands open, touching me so briefly with his finger that it hurt, I saw it.

Fire.

Dragons were all fire and brimstone and ash and smoke—but I saw the flames in his eyes. Maybe this prison was driving me insane, something in the air slowly poisoning my mind, but as he plucked my warped dough ball and retreated, I swore an inferno danced in his gaze, turning warm dark chocolate to molten gold.

But then he blinked and looked down, focused on rolling my sad doughball between his palms until it was perfect again. Goose bumps covered me from top to bottom, and I let out a shaky breath—loving and hating every second of this interaction.

“Just know… I feel it too,” Elijah murmured, pointedly avoiding my stare now that I gave it to him, my eyes wide and open for the first time in days.

“I don’t understand it.”

“Me neither.” He pushed the tray aside and grabbed a new one, somehow having rolled out the twenty required balls despite my paltry offerings. The full tray scraped across the table, dragging flour and chips of hardened dough with it, while the new one clattered like an assault. He paused suddenly, hands gripping the edge of the table, his mouth set