Chapter 12 #2
Our hands brushed as I passed him the potatoes. Electricity shot up my arm, pooling in my core with heat that made me press my thighs together. The kitchen suddenly felt much too warm.
The timer dinged, and he moved with efficient grace, assembling plates with golden-brown hash browns, perfectly crisped sausage patties, and wedges of a frittata that would have made a professional chef envious.
“Thank you,” I said, taking a seat at the kitchen island. The first bite of frittata nearly made me moan, herbs and cheese and vegetables in perfect harmony. “This is incredible.”
“Mere fuel,” he said, but I caught the pleased quirk of his lips as he slid onto the stool beside me.
We ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the domestic atmosphere dangerously appealing despite my attempts to maintain emotional distance.
“So tell me,” I said finally, steering away from the strange intimacy of the moment. “What does the great Brody Thornbern do when he’s not brewing or cooking gourmet breakfasts?”
He took a sip of coffee, considering. “I carve.”
“Carve?”
“Wood,” he clarified. “Figures, mostly. Animals. Been doing it since the military, something about the focus required, having to be completely present with each cut.”
I tried to imagine those large hands creating delicate wooden figures with patient precision. The contradiction was… appealing.
“I’d like to see them sometime,” I said before I could stop myself.
His gaze intensified, pupils dilating until only a slim ring of gray remained. His gaze dropped to my lips for just a heartbeat before returning to my eyes. “I’d like that too,” he said, his voice dropping to that register that vibrated straight through my chest and settled low in my belly.
We finished eating without speaking, but the silence buzzed with electricity.
The clink of silverware echoed unnaturally loudly.
Each time our eyes accidentally met, the temperature in the room seemed to spike.
I became hyperaware of every movement, the way his throat worked when he swallowed, how his fingers curled around his coffee mug, the slight shift of his body when he reached for his napkin.
I set down my fork with a deliberate clatter, determined to break whatever spell had fallen over the kitchen before I did something stupid like reach across the island and touch him just to see if his skin felt as hot as it looked.
“So what does the doctor do to unwind?” he asked, leaning back with obvious amusement.
Warmth bloomed across my neck. “You’d be surprised.”
“Try me.”
I debated how much to reveal. Three doctoral degrees, groundbreaking medical research, and international recognition, and what did I do to relax?
“I watch ghost hunter shows,” I admitted finally. “The cheesier, the better.”
His coffee mug froze halfway to his lips. “Ghost hunters? You, the woman who just explained the brain-chemistry complexities of shifter healing, spend your free time watching people chase shadows with EMF detectors?”
“Don’t judge,” I said, picking up my fork, pointing it at him accusingly. “There’s something soothing about watching people get excited over creaky floorboards and temperature drops. It’s… uncomplicated.”
“Uncomplicated,” he repeated, fighting a smile. “Right. Because analyzing electromagnetic frequencies and infrared anomalies is so much simpler than your actual job.”
“At least ghosts don’t require peer review,” I shot back. “Or ethics committees. Or pharmaceutical boards trying to steal your research.”
His laugh was rich and unexpected. “Fair point. Any particular shows?”
“Watching grown men scream at doorknobs never gets old.” I took a sip of coffee to hide my embarrassment. “What? Everyone needs mindless entertainment.”
“I’m not judging,” he said, but his eyes were definitely laughing. “It’s just… You realize you’re describing the supernatural like it’s fiction, right? While sitting in a town full of actual supernatural beings?”
I paused, fork halfway to my mouth. “Well, when you put it like that, it sounds ridiculous.”
“Adorably ridiculous,” he said, and something warm unfurled in my chest at the word “adorable.”
“Any OIA intel after last night’s attack?” I asked, dragging the conversation to safer ground.
His expression darkened. “Not yet, but Quinn has the pack reaching out to our own contacts.”
I set down my fork. “We need to get to the COL fast. The faster I figure out how to stabilize the COL water, the closer to a breakthrough we’ll get.”
“Agreed,” Brody said.
“Then we go now,” I said, surprising myself with my decisiveness.
His eyebrows rose. “This isn’t a nature walk, Rozi. It’s a climb that could kill us both.”
“Everything could kill us right now,” I pointed out. “At least this way, we die trying to save lives instead of hiding from pharmaceutical assassins.”
Something shifted in his expression—respect, maybe, mixed with the kind of protective fury that made my core clench with unwanted heat.
“All right,” he said finally. “But we do this my way. You follow my lead, use the equipment I give you, and if I say we turn back…” He stepped closer, close enough that the aroma of sandalwood and citrus mingled with something purely male. “We turn back. No arguments.”
I lifted my chin defiantly. “I don’t take orders, Thornbern.”
“On this trek, you do.” His voice carried absolute authority. “It’s dangerous fucking terrain, and the weather in the Ridge is damn unpredictable. I don’t doubt your hiking skills, but I’m familiar with this terrain and you’re not.”
The blunt honesty should have offended me. Instead, it sent heat curling in my system. This was Brody in full protective mode, deadly serious and completely in control.
“Fine,” I said, though the word tasted like rebellion. “Your forest, your rules.”
“Damn right.” Desire transformed his gaze. “Just don’t forget who’s in charge out there.”
The dominance in his tone should have offended me. Instead, it sent liquid heat pooling low in my belly, my inner cheetah stretching lazily in response to the challenge. I stepped closer, invading his space until barely an inch separated us.
“I don’t take orders well, Thornbern,” I whispered, my voice dropping to a husky register I barely recognized. “Not even in your precious COL.”
His nostrils flared as he caught my scent, the subtle change in my body chemistry betraying my arousal, despite my defiant words. For one heart-stopping moment, I thought he might close that final inch between us.
Instead, he smiled, slow, predatory, promising. “We’ll see about that, Dr. Dhahabu.” He brushed past me toward the stairs, his body heat searing my skin even through our clothes. “Twenty minutes. We have a long journey ahead, and the COL doesn’t forgive mistakes.”
I watched him go. What was I doing? Years of careful distance, and now I was about to spend days alone with him in the wilderness, in Fae cabins with beds and privacy and no one to hear us if— I cut off the thought before it could fully form.
The COL was about research. Finding a cure. Nothing more.
So why did it feel like I was walking willingly into the most exquisite trap I’d ever seen?