Page 15 of Rake

That much is very true.

“How nice for you.” Her voice has a dreamy quality, like she’s drifting off in her mind to somewhere safe. Somewhere I can’t reach her. I’m losing control here.

“I’m going to make dinner. Any allergies?”

“Sadly, no. Nothing easy to take me out with.”

I stifle a laugh. “A shame. It’d save us all a lot of trouble.”

She stares daggers into me, which is more of a turn-on than I’d like to admit. But she needs to understand what’s happening here and how much she has to lose.

It’ll be easier if she just cooperates.

But more fun if she doesn’t.

Since I knew I’d have a guest tonight, I picked up an assortment of food. Moving to the kitchen, I pull out some oysters and scallops. I’ll pan roast them and make one of my favorite recipes—a seafood soup that’s easy to make but tastes like I’ve spent hours preparing.

It never fails to get those panties to drop.

I toss some bacon into my Le Creuset pot, and once the meat is soft, I add some celery and onion. Fish stock and, importantly, oyster liquor, my secret ingredient, make the base of the soup. After I blend in the spices, I leave it to boil as I sear the scallops. Once the liquid boils, I back off on the heat, let it simmer for a while, and then it’s time for the oysters, some Worcestershire sauce, and finally, the delicately seared scallops. It smells amazing, and I peer out into the living room to see if Sasha is interested.

She’s asleep.

Of course.

I pull the baguette toasts out of the oven and set the food up on my antique dining room table.

The soup is best hot, so I gently shake Sasha’s shoulder.

She shrieks. Christ.

“I didn’t mean to scare you. I thought you might be hungry.”

Her eyes are wild with fear. It takes a minute for her breathing to calm.

Next time I see her breath feverish and coming in pants, I want it to be from desire. Until we get there, though, I’ll have to be more cautious.

I help her up, and she opens her pretty mouth as if to protest, but I ignore her and sling my arm low on her waist, helping her to the table. I pull out her chair, enjoying how annoyed she is at the theater of it all. Once she’s settled, I pour us some wine. Her eyes narrow just the slightest bit, but she takes the glass when I offer it to her.

“How did you get into union organizing?”

“Mostly for the opportunity it gives me to meet all sorts of interesting people.” She throws it down like a gauntlet and takes a sip of her wine.

“I understand why you’re defensive, but I’m just trying to understand you better so we can figure out where to go next.”

The soup is perfect.

She exhales sharply. “My mother died when I was in college. She had type one diabetes, and her job cut her hours so they wouldn’t have to provide health benefits. Insulin isn’t cheap and she rationed it so we could pay the bills. When she died, I had to drop out of college to take care of my little brother. I’d been working in the cafeteria part-time, and the non-student employees were SWU 105. They connected me with the union office. I eventually took a job with them.”

“I’m sorry that happened.”

If it hadn’t, a smart, pretty girl like Sasha would’ve been able to finish college and find a more suitable path.

“Yeah, me too.”

“How much younger is your brother? I’ve got three brothers and three sisters. All younger except one.”

She swirls her spoon in the soup for a minute and then takes a bite. “You’re a good cook. Ever think of doing it professionally?”

---