Chapter Five
Seraphine
The cast-iron skillet hissed as I dropped the onions into the oil. The scent made my eyes water as I stirred them around. I’d offered to make dinner since Valen had made breakfast—well, that was what I’d told him.
The real reason I’d offered was because of the two tiny pills nestled in my pocket. The ones that would hopefully have him sleeping like a baby in no time.
I could sense his eyes on me, watching my every move. It wasn’t like he could have known I was planning on drugging him, but it was unnerving having him watch me so closely. I just had to wait for the perfect moment. If he would just focus on something other than what I was doing…
He sat at the kitchen table, his elbows propped as he watched me walk around his kitchen like I owned the place.
“You’re staring,” I commented as I added the steaks into the pan.
At least we weren’t going to go hungry up here. Valen had two freezers stocked with enough food to feed an army, almost as if he’d been planning on staying up here and never leaving. Hell, maybe that had been his plan before I showed up.
“Just making sure you’re not trying to poison me.” He laughed, but there was no humor in his tone.
Well, fuck. There went my masterfully crafted plan.
Don’t freak out. He’ll look away at some point.
But he never did. Not once. For the entire hour I cooked dinner, his dark eyes tracked my every movement around the kitchen, like he was a predator and I was his prey.
The weight of his gaze was unnerving, making me drop the saltshaker more than once.
It was a suffocating feeling that made me want to throw the cast-iron pan at his head.
In reality, that would have been a terrible idea.
One, he was over a foot and a half taller than me and probably a hundred pounds heavier.
Two, I could barely move that pan from one burner to the next without grunting.
I’d more likely drop a hot steak on my bare foot than actually hit him with the pan.
The pills burned in my pocket, a constant reminder that they were my best option of getting out of here before he could enact whatever sick and twisted plan he had for his revenge against me.
I set his plate in front of him and plopped down into the chair to his right. He’d purposely moved the chair, which had been opposite of him, and I didn’t know what to make of that.
My body was on high alert, hyperaware that he was sitting so close to me. He sprinkled a little salt on his potatoes, then passed me the bottle, our fingers brushing against each other’s. I pulled away quickly, as if he’d burned me with just a touch.
A low sound rumbled out of him, like he was amused. “Smells amazing. Where’d you learn to cook like this?” I didn’t miss the groan he made around his fork after he took his first bite of steak.
I shrugged, trying to stomp out the strange feeling of enjoying his praise. “We used to have dinner nights at the sorority house, and I would always cook the ste—” I paused, my fork hallway to my mouth. That was the first time I’d talked about anything to do with my sorority in… well, six years.
A lump formed in my throat, but I pushed it down. “It’s just meat and potatoes.” I stabbed at my carrots. “Nothing special. Anyone with a cookbook and two brain cells could do it.”
“Why do you do that?” He cut another slice of steak, added a bit of the potatoes to his fork.
“Do what?”
“Tear yourself down.” He studied me for a moment, letting the silence stretch. “You’re allowed to accept a compliment and feel good about it.”
“Jesus, Dr. Phil. It was a joke.” I glared down at my plate, hating that he’d struck a nerve. “Just eat your food before I really do decide to poison you.”
We spent the rest of the meal in silence. Mostly because I was fuming under my breath, which only made him laugh.
My plan had been sabotaged by his insane paranoia. Although I guessed he had every right to be paranoid, considering I was trying to drug him. But he couldn’t have known that.
Just think, Seraphine.
My gaze traveled around the room, landed on the bottles of liquor lined up on the bar cart. A new plan started taking form in my head, and I grinned as I took our plates into the kitchen and rinsed them off.
Without asking I grabbed the bottle of Jack Daniel’s and headed back to the kitchen. He quirked his eyebrow as I reached for two shot glasses.
“What do you think you’re doing, Seraphine?” His tone was dangerously low as he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest.
“I’m having a drink because this whole situation is fucked up.
” I lifted the bottle with shaking hands and poured out two shots.
“And you sitting there staring at me all night isn’t helping.
I need something to calm my nerves before I have a mental breakdown.
And trust me, you don’t want to see that.
It’s not pretty. Very loud. Lots of ugly crying. ”
I purposely left the bottle on the kitchen counter, then walked over and handed him a shot. “You’re not a chicken, are you?” I clinked my glass against his, then downed the shot. My nose involuntarily scrunched up at the taste, and I tried not to cough as the liquid burned down my throat.
He chuckled as he took his shot and slid his glass back across the table toward me. “I’ve been called a lot of things, but a chicken is a first.”
For the next few rounds, I played bartender, each time pouring his glass full to the brim while barely pouring any into mine. And each time I drank my tiny portion, I watched gleefully as he drank his like water.
He arched his eyebrow as I set the glasses down between us for another round. “You know, if I was a paranoid man, I’d say you were trying to get me drunk.”
My skin flushed, but I kept my face as neutral as possible. “It’s a good thing you’re not paranoid then.”
When he finally stopped watching me like a hawk, I took my chance.
My heart hammered as I crushed the sleeping pills, excitement coursing through me.
They were pretty strong, but not enough to hurt him.
Just enough to knock him out within twenty minutes.
He’d probably thank me at some point for giving him the best sleep of his life.
The sharp scent of whiskey burned my nose as I poured another shot, mixing in the chalky dust. I swirled my finger in the glass, satisfied he wouldn’t be able to tell.
“I think I’m done.” He waved his hand at the shot glass with the pills. “There’s a lot to do tomorrow.”
My heart sank as I stood there with both glasses in my hand. He couldn’t be done. I needed him to drink the pills, otherwise I might not have another shot. I’d already packed my backpack up and readied everything I would need. It had to be tonight.
“Don’t be a party pooper.” I sat down next to him and linked my arm through his. The heat from his body made my pulse skip. “Let’s try drinking them this way. Whoever spills has to make breakfast.”
He tensed at my touch, his muscles going rigid under my arm. A dangerous look flashed across his face, something dark that made my breath catch. His gaze traveled between the half-empty glass in my hand, then the full one I had placed in front of him.
“You’re being awfully skimpy with your drinks for someone who’s trying to avoid a mental breakdown.” He picked up the glass and clinked it against mine. His voice was lower than before. Rougher.
Satisfaction and something else, something I didn’t want to name, raced through me as we both tilted our heads back and took the shot.
His arm was warm and muscular against mine, and I hated how my body responded to being so close to him.
Every inch of my body had become fully aware that I was practically sitting in his lap.
“I’m more of a sweet flavor kind of gal.” I grinned, trying to stop myself from doing a happy dance, and removed my arm.
He gripped my wrist, his fingers circling it completely. My pulse quickened as I met his stare.
Fuck, did he know?
“You should have said so.” His thumb brushed against my pulse point, resting there for a second too long. The pad of his finger found the erratic rhythm of my heartbeat, and his smile told me everything I needed to know. He took the glass from my hand and walked over to the bar.
My skin flushed, and I wasn’t exactly sure it was from the miniscule amount of alcohol I’d had. If I was going to be flying through the snow on a snowmobile, I’d have to keep my wits about me.
He came back with a bottle, something French across the label. “This is probably more to your taste, little lamb.”
“Oh.” I laughed and waved him away. “That’s OK. I think I’ve had my fill.” My eyebrows drew together as I realized he might try to get actually wasted, and with the pills in his system, that was definitely not a good idea. “Actually, you’ve probably had enough too.”
I went to grab for the bottle, but he made a tsking sound with his tongue. “Just one. Trust me, you’ll like it.”
Heat rushed through me, and I found myself nodding because I didn’t know what else to do. How was I going to turn it down after I’d just shoved half a bottle of whiskey down his throat? I held up my glass, and he smiled, his scar catching on the firelight.
“No cheating this time, little lamb.” His hand slid into my hair, fingers threading through the strands before he closed his fist around them. He tugged my head back gently. “Open.”
My breath hitched, and I found myself squeezing my thighs together at the gleam in his eyes. The position left my throat exposed, my scar on full display. Something about that should have terrified me, but instead, I found my body heating.
No, you traitorous jezebel. You cannot be attracted to him or his bossy attitude.