Page 36 of Bidding on the Orc Outcast

“Let them.” She took his hand and tugged him inside. “I don’t care what they say.”

His feet felt like lead as he crossed the threshold. He’d forgotten how welcoming her apartment felt. The vintage furniture she’d chosen gave the space a cozy, lived-in feel that made his own cabin seem stark and empty in comparison.

He stood in the middle of the room, unsure what to do next. Her small hand was still clasped in his, but the silence stretched between them, broken only by the tick of an old clock on the wall.

“Are you hungry?” she asked finally, breaking the silence. “I could make us something.” She hesitated, her cheeks turning that pretty pink again. “Well, try to make something. Though after what happened last time, maybe we should just order in?”

The memory of smoke and flames made his lips twitch. “You don’t have to-”

“I want to.” She took a step toward the kitchen, then stopped. “Though fair warning - my cooking skills haven’t improved in the last few days.”

The self-deprecating tone in her voice eased some of the tension in his shoulders. He found himself following her into the kitchen, drawn by her warmth like a moth to flame.

“I could cook.” The words slipped out before he could stop them. Her eyes widened, and he fought the urge to take them back. “If you want.”

“You cook?” she asked eagerly.

He shrugged. “I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time.”

She bounced on her toes. “I’d love that. Though I’m not sure what I have…” She opened her refrigerator, peering inside. “There’s eggs, some vegetables, cheese…”

The sight of her bent over, pink silk stretched tight across that delicious ass, made his mouth water. He wanted to strip her bare, to bury his face between her thighs and feast. His body responded to the thought, his cock pressing painfully against his jeans. He forced his gaze away, focusing on the ingredients she’d listed.

“Omelets,” he said roughly.

She straightened and looked up at him. Her cheeks turned pink again and he wondered if she knew what he’d been thinking. Her nipples stiffened beneath the pink silk, impossibly tempting, but he cleared his throat and tried again.

“We can make omelets. With vegetables and cheese.”

“That sounds wonderful,” she said breathlessly, as she moved aside to let him pull things out of the fridge.

As he started preparing vegetables, she hopped up on the other counter watching hum curiously.

“How did you learn to cook?”

“I told you that my dad died.” His knife paused over a red pepper. “Mom… she couldn’t handle it. She started drinking.”

She didn’t say anything, but he felt her presence, warm and steady, and the silence encouraged him to continue.

“I got pretty good at covering for her.” He resumed chopping, the rhythmic sound filling the kitchen. “I made excuses when she missed work. Cleaned up empty bottles. I learned to cook because she needed to eat.”

The vegetables sizzled as he added them to the pan.

“She hid it pretty well from everyone else. But inside…” He cracked eggs into a bowl, whisking them with more force than necessary. “Inside she was falling apart.”

His hands stilled over the bowl. “She died in a car crash when I was seventeen. A single vehicle, late at night. I’ve always wondered if she did it on purpose.”

He poured the eggs into the pan, watching them start to set. “I never told anyone that before.”

The confession hung in the air between them, heavier than he’d expected. He’d carried those thoughts alone for so long, they felt strange spoken aloud.

“I’m so sorry,” she said softly.

“It was a long time ago.”

“That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.”

He tried to focus on the task rather than her closeness but her scent made his head spin.

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