Chapter 29
CHAPTER 29
A mara stood in front of the stove, the sizzle of frying chicken filling the kitchen as she flipped each piece with a pair of tongs. The rich, savory aroma made her stomach growl. Cooking had always been something that calmed her. And tonight, standing here in King’s kitchen, it felt different. It felt...nice.
She hummed softly, poking at the chicken, then glanced down at her bare feet, wiggling her toes against the cool tile floor. She had changed into an old pair of sweats and her favorite oversized t-shirt, the fabric worn soft with time. Before she started cooking, she had pulled her hair into a quick ponytail, using a strand of her own hair to secure it since she had forgotten a hair tie. She probably looked like a mess, but for the first time in a long time, she didn’t care.
For the first time in a long time, she felt… content.
She exhaled slowly, soaking in the moment and enjoying the rare feeling of peace. It was fragile and delicate, like a bubble that could pop at any second. But she held onto it, knowing precisely who was responsible for the warmth spreading through her chest. King.
The man in the other room, with his intense eyes and rough edges, was the reason she felt safe and wasn’t constantly looking over her shoulder waiting for the next blow to land. He had taken her in, giving her a place to breathe and rest. And damn it, she was going to soak up every second of it while she could. Guilt tried to invade her peaceful feeling, but she pushed it away for now. Later, she would feel the guilt about her brother’s death.
A deep voice rumbled from the doorway, sending a pleasant shiver down her spine. “Smells good,” King said, his tone gruff yet warm.
She turned, finding him leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, his dark gaze locked onto her like she was the only thing in the world worth looking at. Her heart did that stupid little flip it always did around him.
“I heard from Steve that Sid’s cooking is the...” Amara frowned. “cat’s ass.”
King laughed, shaking his head. “Fucking Steve.”
“I don’t even know what that means, but a cat’s ass doesn’t sound very appetizing to me,” Amara said with a chuckle. “Is Steve a good Warrior? I mean, I’m sure he is. He just doesn’t seem serious like the others, which is why I’m asking.”
“Steve is someone I’d trust with my life. He is loyal and a damn good Warrior.” King replied, knowing to some, Steve seemed a little off.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything by that.” Amara bit her lip, wishing she had kept her mouth shut. “He’s just different from you and the others, not that I’ve met them all.”
King pushed off the doorframe, closing the distance between them. His presence was overwhelming in the best way, his heat wrapping around her even though he wasn’t touching her...yet.
“Steve is definitely different, but I’m not interested in talking about him,” he murmured, his voice lower now. “I’m more interested in you.”
Her breath caught, pulse kicking up.
He reached out, brushing his knuckles against her cheek, his touch surprisingly soft for someone so big. “Amara,” he said, her name a quiet rumble that sent warmth curling through her belly.
She swallowed hard, gripping the tongs tighter because if she didn’t hold onto something, she might melt into him.
“Yeah?” she managed, her voice a little unsteady.
King’s lips quirked slightly, his thumb tracing the curve of her jaw before he leaned in, close enough that she could feel his breath against her skin.
“The chicken is burning,” he murmured, his voice edged with amusement.
Amara leaned into him, her body instinctively seeking his warmth, her eyes half-lidded as his words registered in her foggy mind.
“Huh?” she murmured, blinking sluggishly. Then reality slammed into her like a freight train. “Shit!” she yelped, snapping back to attention and flipping the chicken just in time.
King chuckled behind her, the deep rumble vibrating through his chest as he stepped closer. His large hands landed on her hips, and before she could react, he pulled her back flush against him. The heat of his body seeped into her, making her shiver. Then, as if that wasn’t enough, his strong arm snaked around her stomach, tugging her even tighter against him.
Her hands shook as she fumbled with the chicken leg, grease spattering in all directions. “Ouch!” she yelped, jerking her hand back as the tongs clattered against the pan and then onto the floor, barely missing her bare feet.
King instantly grabbed her wrist, lifting it to inspect the burn. Before she could protest, he brought her hand to his mouth, his warm tongue flicking out to soothe the sting.
A ragged moan slipped from her lips before she could stop it.
And just like that, her mind was flooded with memories—memories of his mouth, his tongue, his body pressed against hers, soothing her soreness after he had completely wrecked her in bed. A fresh wave of heat pooled in her belly, her thighs clenching involuntarily.
Oh man, she was in so much trouble. This man had utterly ruined her for anyone else. No one could or would compare to King. She knew it with a terrifying certainty, and that realization sent a shiver of panic through her. Because what happened when all of this was over? Would he walk away and leave her behind?
Deep in her heart, she knew she would be absolutely gutted. She was half in love with this man. What in the hell was happening to her?
Slowly, she pulled her hand from his mouth, needing distance before she completely lost herself in him.
“Thanks,” she whispered, grateful he couldn’t see her face. She knew her expression would betray every chaotic emotion crashing inside her.
“Amara, what’s wrong?” King’s voice was gentle but firm, his grip still secure around her waist.
“Nothing,” she lied, focusing intently on the frying chicken.
“Don’t lie to me,” he ordered, his tone soft but unwavering. She could feel his gaze burning into the side of her face, demanding the truth.
“I need tongs,” she blurted, latching onto the first excuse she could think of. Technically, it wasn’t a lie. She really did need clean tongs.
He didn’t move right away, as if debating whether to push further. Then, without a word, he reached over and grabbed another pair from the counter, placing them in her hand.
“Thanks,” she mumbled again, relieved when he finally stepped back.
The moment King stepped away, an ache settled deep in her chest, a hollowness so strong it made her want to turn around, crawl into his arms, and stay there. Yeah, she was getting way too attached.
She needed to be careful. Guard herself. Build walls before she got hurt. But what if… what if this was real? What if it wasn’t just the mind-blowing sex with this dangerously handsome Warrior clouding her judgment? What if King was the one?
Her stomach clenched at the thought, and panic flickered inside her. Before she could spiral further, Joey’s voice rang out from the living room.
“Hey! Where’s the food? I’m starving!”
Amara exhaled, rolling her eyes as she blew a loose strand of hair out of her face. “That kid gets a pass right now, but he’s gonna learn real quick that I’m not his cook or maid,” she teased, grateful for the distraction.
Grabbing the platter, she turned, inhaling deeply to steady herself. But before she could get the chicken out of the pan, King was there again, spinning her back around with that unreadable intensity in his gaze.
“This conversation isn’t over, Amara,” he said, his voice low and firm. “Something’s bothering you, and you will tell me what it is.”
Her pulse stuttered. No way in hell was she telling him the truth. But maybe… maybe she could misdirect him. Turning away, she busied herself with the chicken, keeping her eyes firmly on the pan. She was never good at lying or deceit. And that’s precisely what she was doing.
“I need to go to Joey’s house before Saturday to get him clothes for the funeral,” she said, keeping her voice steady. “And I need to go to my apartment for some of my stuff. My camera, too. I need to find some work, but I hate asking because I know it’s a lot.”
She turned with the platter, relieved at how natural it sounded. But before she could take another step, King effortlessly plucked the dish from her hands, his sharp eyes never leaving hers.
“I already told you I’d take you wherever you need to go.” He cocked a brow, smirking. “Good try. We’ll talk when everyone leaves.”
Damn it. She muttered a quiet curse, scowling as she grabbed one of the pans to take to the sink.
“Leave that for later,” King ordered, stopping her before she could grab another pan. “Get your food first. And Joey’s. They can have whatever’s left.”
Her stomach did that stupid flip-flop thing again. It had been so long since anyone cared whether she ate at all.
Nodding, she grabbed a plate and put a few pieces of chicken on it, then headed into the living room. But before she could escape, King’s hand shot out, stopping her again.
“Wait a minute.” He took the plate from her and added another piece. “I know for a fact Joey will want more than one. And you need to eat, Amara.”
Warmth flooded her chest, making it impossible to meet his gaze. She swallowed, gripping the plate tighter.
“Yeah, okay,” she murmured, slipping past him before she did something stupid like fall even harder for the man who was already unraveling her piece by piece.