Page 30 of Stolen Summer
“Not to me.” He took a match and lit the burner, having to ignite the gas manually with the power out. The orange-red flame added hues of light to the dim room. Only three candles burned in the kitchen, giving him the light he required to work. “Why are you frowning now?” he demanded.
I huffed and lifted my gaze to find his narrowed eyes on me. “I’m supposed to work today, and since I have no idea what time it is, I’m probably late.” The excuse quickly rolled off my tongue. Not a complete lie. I had thought of the diner today. I was scheduled to work, but with the power outage, I doubted Ann and Forest would be open for business.
“A pattern?” He reached under the island, pulling out a pan.
I recalled yesterday morning when he’d caught me as I was leaving work still drunk from the night before. Why did that seem like weeks ago? “Not until I met you.”
A dark smile flirted on his mouth. “If it’s work you want, I have something you can do.”
“This sounds like something I should immediately say no to. Please don’t make an awkward, sexiest remark about what I can do with my hands or mouth.”
Cole smiled, and I nearly lost my breath. “You’ve got a dirty mind, Killer. I was only going to suggest you grab us a bottle of wine, but if you’re offering an alternative…”
I groaned.
“What else are you going to do? Pout?” he suggested.
“I’m not pouting.” To prove my point, I hopped off the stool and went to the cabinet housing the wine. Yes, I knew right where it was. Using the flashlight, I scanned the bottles. “White or red?”
“White,” he replied over a sudden sizzle from the stove.
I skimmed the bottles, pulling out a few to check the labels before grabbing one with a pink sticker and fancy silver text. I brought it back and set it in the middle of the island.
Cole tilted the bottle and read the label. “Hmm, Provence Rosés.”
“Is that bad?”
He opened a drawer, producing a bottle opener. “No, actually. Do you drink a lot of wine, Killer?”
My nose scrunched. “Hardly. It had a pretty label.”
His husky chuckle produced a flutter in my stomach. “I take it you don’t like wine?”
“I don’t drink much,” I admitted. Was it possible to feel comfortable in someone’s presence yet simultaneously feel this electric current coursing through your blood that edged on the line of magnetic and panic? Being here with Cole made me feel that way, and I couldn’t explain it.
My body unable to decide if it should run from him or to him.
Chapter Eleven
The first bite sent my taste buds into an orgasm. My eyes closed as I savored the flavors, chewing and swallowing. “Holy shit. This, this”—I pointed my fork at the chicken parmesan on my plate—“might be better than sex.”
“Just wait until you have sex with me, Killer.” His tone had gone smooth and velvety like the petals of an onyx rose.
I moved my fork to the pasta, twirling it around. “There it is. The sexual innuendos. No guy can resist.”
“How could I when you set it up so perfectly? We could set the record straight tonight?” He gave me a smug smirk.
I lifted my glass of wine, needing to wet my throat. I was suddenly parched. Narrowing my eyes over the flute, I replied, “I’ll pass and reserve judgment, uh, never.” My tone dripped with sarcasm.
The knife in his hand cut smoothly through the chicken. “Another bet?”
I choked, wine burning my nostrils, an unpleasant feeling. “Not falling for that again.” I shoveled a forkful of pasta into my mouth to avoid saying anything else.
I hadn’t realized I finished my wine until Cole got up to refill it. It explained the warm tingles spreading through my body.
The lull in conversation had my thoughts turning to Dad. How was he faring? Was Sadie still with him? Had she stayed? Were they worried about me? It had been twenty-four hours. I officially qualified for a missing person’s report if the cell phone towers ever got back up or the power was restored.
“You’re worried about your father,” he said, reading me in a way that irritated me.