Chapter 8
Harper
"No." My jaw drops. Thinking of this man in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, crafting a dish to satisfy my palate, is the most erotic thing ever.
"Don’t look so shocked." He chuckles.
The grumpass who’s more given to grunts than words actually chuckles.
His blue eyes turn azure, almost silver. His expression lightens. He seems so much younger than his years.
“I once thought I might pursue a career as a chef. But then”—a shadow crosses his face— “life got in the way.”
From wanting to become a chef to becoming a Marine? I wonder what happened to make him change his mind in such a drastic fashion.
He mentioned it was his friend joining the Marines which inspired him to do the same. But clearly, there's more to that story.
“It’s not too late. You can still study to become a chef,” I point out.
“It might be a little too late for me,” His eyes grow haunted.
“It’s never too late.” I feel the need to soothe him. To reassure him. To show him that there’s more to life than the fatalistic view he seems so keen on taking. "You’re what? A decade older than me?"
His forehead furrows. That was a mistake. I shouldn’t have brought that up. Clearly, our age gap is an issue for him. But really, what is a decade? “You’re in your early thirties. You still have a long life ahead of you.”
His lips tighten. “I hope you’re right.” His voice is somber.
Damn, I'm botching this completely.
He's a Marine. He puts his life on the line every single day, faces death as part of his job, and I just casually threw out "long life ahead of you" like it's a guarantee.
Like men in his position don't often come home in flag-draped coffins. It’s a reality he lives with.
And I had to refer to it in the most tactless fashion.
I mentally shake myself and try again. "What I'm trying to say is, the number of years between us doesn't matter as much as where we are mentally. Our maturity levels. Our life experience."
I mentally shake myself and try again. “Let me try that again. Chronological years don’t matter as much as your mental perspective.”
He nods slowly. "You're right, of course."
Okay. Good.
His gaze narrows. "But it doesn't negate the fact that you're my little sister's best friend. It's a relationship I don't want to jeopardize."
I frown. "Why would it? Phe's an adult. She doesn't get to dictate who I see or what I do with my personal life. My friendship with her and whatever might happen between you and me are two separate things."
He shakes his head. "They're not separate, Harper.
Not when I'm involved. If things go south between us, it puts you in an impossible position.
You'd have to choose between your best friend and the guy who hurt you.
Or worse, you'd lose her because she'd feel like she has to pick a side. I won't do that to either of you."
I rub at my temple. "I’m really not understanding what you’re implying."
His forehead crinkles. He seems to think things through, then sets his jaw as if coming to a decision. "I’m not the relationship kind."
"Okay?" I lower my chin. "I’m twenty-one. I’m not looking for a relationship, either."
"You’re looking for something temporary?" The fine wrinkles around his eyes deepen. He doesn’t seem happy at the prospect. How strange. I thought he’d find it freeing.
"I’m not looking to marry the first man I sleep with, if that’s that you’re thinking."
No sooner are the words out than I squeeze my eyes shut. Damn. Damn. Damn. Did I have to blurt that out? Color flushes my cheeks. "Can we forget that I said that?" My voice comes out strangled.
When I open my eyes, he’s looking at me with shock and something else—desire?—in his eyes.
"Oh my god, you like the fact that I haven’t slept with anyone?" I whisper.
Also, it’s surreal that we’re having this conversation so soon after we met. But hey, since it’s out in the open, may as well own it.
He rubs the back of his neck, then looks around as if wishing he were elsewhere. "It has a certain appeal," he finally admits. "But also, it’s all the more reason that I’m not going to explore whatever this is between us."
I brace my hands on the table, irritation biting at my chest.
I’m pissed off at myself for being so gauche as to let that slip. But also, I can’t believe how quickly he dismissed the connection he feels for me.
"You could go through your entire life and not feel whatever it is that’s here between us." I wave my hand in the air.
He considers what I said, then nods. "Perhaps."
"And that doesn’t upset you?"
He thinks through my words again. "It does. But my relationship with my sister is just as important."
I throw up my hands. "You’re complicating things for no reason."
The skin around his mouth softens. "When you live a little more of life, you’ll realize that everything is connected."
"You mean the butterfly effect? I know about that."
"Do you?" He lips twitch.
The humor in his eyes rubs me up the wrong way. "You’re not taking me seriously," I snap.
"On the contrary"—his gaze, once more, grows serous—"I find you fascinating. And smart. And gorgeous. And yes, a tad young for me."
His lips twist.
"But your freshness is part of your appeal."
The color of his eyes deepens to midnight.
There's no mistaking the intensity of his words. My stomach flips like the contents of a pan which have been set to boil too fast. An electric sensation sizzles across my chest. Being the focus of his attention is like standing too close to an open flame. It’s unsettling, dangerous, but impossible to step away from. My breath catches.
"Was that a confession that you find me attractive?" I strive for a lighter tone of voice, but don’t quite pull it off.
One side of his lips quirks. "You want me to confirm to you that I also feel this chemistry between us?"
I nod. "It’s good to know that whatever I’m feeling is not all one-sided."
"It’s not. But I’m also not going to sleep with you. Especially, not now."
He’s not saying it’s because I’m a virgin, but that’s, clearly, a big part of it, too.
The set to his features tells me I can’t change his mind. If I belabor the point, it’s only going to make him dig in his heels. So, I decide to change track.
I pick up my fork and scoop up more of the pasta, chewing on it thoughtfully.
"What’s your favorite dish to cook?"
He accepts the change in subject. "The humble omelet."
"Hmm." I look at him with interest. "Not that humble. It’s not easy to make a perfect omelet."
"It’s not." His eyes light up with an inner fire. "It’s brutally simple yet needs precision and a lightness of touch which only comes with a lot of practice. But even that's not enough. The more you practice the better you get at it, and yet… There’s a chance you don’t get it right.
It’s like shooting. You keep at it. You get better with time, but there’s always a chance your calculations are off, or the winds change as you shoot, and you miss your mark. "
"You’re a sniper?" I ask with a flash of insight.
He looks at me with something like admiration. "Royal Marines are commandos first and specialists second. My forte is mission planning and strategy. But yes, I also get sent on high stake missions as a marksman.”
I nod slowly. "I can see why both of those would suit your temperament."
"Oh?"
I purse my lips. "I imagine it requires extreme patience and restraint, and likely, an obsession with micro-adjustments. Not to mention, the ability to work under pressure. All of which seem second nature to you."
"We just met, and you think you already know me?" He's not insulted; he's genuinely curious.
"I have good instincts," I say with quiet confidence.
It’s something I know about myself. It’s why I’ve kept on this path of becoming a chef, despite the fact that that I have to work my way up from being a dishwasher. Literally. Something in me insists I can do this. Just like I know this man in front of me is going to play a role in my life.
"So do I." He holds my gaze.
The air between us heats. My scalp tingles. I can’t get over the fact that, despite his insistence to the contrary, whatever is between us can’t be pushed aside. "You can’t see a relationship between us. I’m not saying I accept that. But also, I’m not going to try to change your mind."
He narrows his gaze. "So, what are you hinting at?"
I tighten my hold on my fork, then peek up at him from under my eyelashes, "You could give me this one night?"