Chapter Eleven
Kay
I couldn’t sleep.
I had been tossing and turning for the last two hours in this huge, lonely, beautiful bed.
Then again, how does a person sleep in the same house as the devil? I had paced the length of this room at least thirty times, tried to skim a few classic novels for a while, and even though I wanted to look out into the night, I avoided the window.
My demon hid me away, and I knew in my gut that Romano didn’t know of my presence here.
A frustrated groan left my lips as I turned over to look at the clock on the wall.
It wasn’t even midnight yet. I was pretty sure Ray Romano— the evil asshole—left hours ago.
I saw a speedboat roar away, but every time I thought about leaving my room, the look in Collin’s ice blue eyes flashed before me.
The house was still quiet. Even though Col didn’t have a lot of house staff, it was still noticeable when the small group was gone. My stomach growled loudly, and I sat up, wrapping my arms around myself.
I was starving.
Ten more minutes passed, my stomach rumbling the whole time.
Hunger was something I had to get used to as a child, but now that I was into adulthood, I always made sure my fridge was stocked.
Our father used to take his paychecks and Mama’s before she could pay any bills…
thank God for Uncle Sullie and his Sunday dinners.
Without them, Jer and I would have starved in the summer.
My beloved tummy ached with hunger as a small headache began to form.
Fuck it.
I threw the covers aside and tiptoed to the door.
Cracking it open, I was greeted by a dark hallway and the deafening sound of silence.
Usually, the light would be on for the house staff—yet another sign they were still gone.
Ears ringing, I stepped out and quietly shut my bedroom door behind me.
I constantly looked over my shoulder as I made my way down the hallway, causing the cream silk strap on my shoulder to fall.
My hair tickled my back as I went down the stairs, the cool air of the house wrapping around my bare legs, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind.
The whole house was dark and cold. The goosebumps traveled up my arms as I peeked around the corner to look into the massive living room. A short shiver went through me.
Everything was off, the only light coming from the full moon outside, shining down through the windows, making the space welcoming for death. Inhaling an unsteady breath, I quickly crossed the room, bouncing on the balls of my feet, heading straight to the kitchen area.
The kitchen was the most intimidating part of the house.
A large, twelve-foot island stood proud in front of a wall of cabinets and appliances.
Excitement filled my bones at the thought of baking something in this work of art came across my mind, the goosebumps fading as warmth took over.
I would love to break this kitchen in and make it mine.
I could see myself here daily, baking goodies.
The island had twelve stools, so hosting a dinner party would be simple, and we wouldn’t even have to venture into the massive dining room—
I shook my head.
“Don’t be stupid, Kay. This mansion is not your home,” I whispered.
My stomach growled, reminding me to find sustenance, my mouth watered, and my tongue craved something sweet. I let out a little groan as I opened the door to the pantry, envy surfacing at the glorious sight before me. Of course, it was filled with the finest ingredients.
Haley loved my snickerdoodle cookies.
A small smile formed on my lips as a single tear fell from my left eye. She deserved some cookies after everything.
I didn’t care if the devil was still here or not; I would bake.
Death could wait until my fucking cookies were done.
I flicked on the light above the gas range and began gathering the ingredients I needed.
This recipe was engraved in my brain, each measurement inked on my hands.
I could bake these cookies blindfolded. It was one of the first things I had ever learned how to bake.
Mama taught me—whenever Dad was away. My brother and I thought he was working instead of trashing everything he and Mama had built for themselves.
As I quickly prepped the dough, I got lost in thought, forgetting where I was and how shitty my life had turned out to be.
For the next twenty minutes, I was just a girl, baking her mama’s recipe in a gorgeous kitchen—my dream kitchen.
The sweet smell of sugar and cinnamon filled the space, reminding me of home.
Once I placed the cookies in the oven, I turned to start cleaning up the mess when my heart dropped to the floor.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
I let out a small scream, covering my mouth as I looked up to see my blue-eyed demon standing in the shadows. His silhouette stood tall, a shred of moonlight landing over his eyes.
Those fucking eyes.
He was a beautiful nightmare.
“Col,” I breathed.
“I told you to stay in your room,” he growled, his eyes a wall of ice.
“I was hungry.”
He moved then, slowly, like a lion stalking its prey, his eyes never leaving mine as the muscle in his jaw hardened. As he rounded the island, my heartrate picked up, my lips parting as something other than fear took over.
“You were hungry,” he deadpanned, his voice furious with disbelief.
I nodded as he came to stand two feet away from me.
He was dressed in black sweats and a black hoodie.
Even he was cold in this big dark house.
After a moment of staring at me, his eyes scanned the mess on the countertop.
He gestured to the sugar and flour. “So you just took it upon yourself to come down here and make a mess in my kitchen?”
I ignored him, not caring about the mess I intended to clean up. “Is he gone?”
“Karina—”
“Col, is he gone?” My voice shook at the end of the question, and I hated that it did, but Romano scared the fuck out of me. I looked to my feet.
“Yes.”
I let out a breath. Thank Jesus.
When I met his eyes again, he was scowling down at me in annoyance.
“Then what’s your problem?” I snapped. The devil had been exorcized from the building, so why the hell was he mad at me? “You said I could go anywhere I liked.”
“I told you to stay in your room,” he hissed, his jaw still clenched.
My eyes dropped a fraction, focusing on the pale skin of his face in contrast with the dark tattoos on his neck.
I ached to run my fingers along that jaw.
He could cut glass with it if he wanted to.
Hell, he'd been slicing my heart to pieces for years, but I still ached for him.
To touch his skin. To kiss up and down that jaw and that tattooed neck. To hear him say my name in pleasure…
“I was hungry,” I repeated, clearing my throat as I met his eyes again, mentally kicking myself for my thoughts. I was supposed to hate him.
He looked to the ceiling, running a tattooed hand down his face. He sighed through his nose, the veins in his neck popping. When he looked back down at me, those blue eyes darkened. “You listen to me when I tell you to do something,” he clipped, his control slipping.
Anger coursed through me. You know what? Fuck it.
“I was hungry!” I shouted back, reaching for the bowl of flour. Without a second thought, I threw the powder at him. His all-black outfit was now covered in white, his face covered too.
He let out a breath, sending even more into the air between us.
He stared at me.
Speechless.
I nodded. “I was hungry. Then you made me angry…hangry is not a good thing with me,” I rambled on, dropping the bowl back onto the counter with a bang and tossing some of my hair over my shoulder. Underneath a sheet of white, those icy eyes glared.
He was going to kill me.
I was sure of it now.
A smile played on my lips as a thought occurred to me.
“At least when you kill me now, you won’t look like a hitman…more like Frosty the Snowman…” I couldn’t finish the sentence as I began laughing.
In a flash, he yanked the bag of flour I left out, stepped to me, and dumped all of it on top of my head.
I gasped and coughed. Flour fluttered around us like snow on Christmas morning as we stood toe to toe, glaring at each other.
After a moment, I looked down and shook my hair, more flour falling to the floor.
“And you look like a crackhead,” he deadpanned. Did he just say ‘crackhead’?
I looked up at him wide-eyed, and something happened.
Something wonderful.
Something I hadn’t witnessed in years.
A smile spread across his gorgeous, flour-covered face, and he tossed his head back, the most precious sound escaping his hard, tormented body.
He laughed.
God.
It was the most beautiful sound in the world. Music. A symphony I never wanted to end. I began to laugh with him as I reached for an egg and slammed it against his shaved head.
His eyes went wide, but there was a playfulness in them I had never seen before. I doubled over, laughing harder than I ever had, clutching my middle before standing upright once more.
“That’s for being rude to me,” I said with a smile, my cheeks warm as my heart fluttered, my soul dancing in happiness.
He smirked down at me, the ice in those eyes melting, letting me in. “Run, angel.”
Oh shit. I did, turning and dashing around the island.
He chased me—God what a feeling. Years of being overlooked by him, trying to ignore the pain inside as he focused on Gwen and nailing my feet into the ground when the urge to chase him became too much to bear…
He was chasing me, seeking me, and even if this was just a momentary game between us, it would forever be branded on my soul. I was wanted by my blue-eyed demon.
Both of us giggled, laughing like a couple of kids, flour falling from our bodies.
It was a mess—a beautiful mess, but I loved it.