Page 107 of Heritage of Fire

She yelps when she turns around, eyes going straight to the piece sitting on my shoulder. She lifts the wooden spoon in her hand and points it at me.

“You’re a snoop. Go put that away.”

I smirk. “I’d rather you go put it on.”

Red crawls up her neck and onto her cheeks. When she’s embarrassed or unsure about something, she has a habit of shrinking away or hiding, but I don’t want that. I’ve loved seeing her grow more confident over these past couple of months; getting out from under her parent’s thumb and becoming an alluring woman who stands in the kitchen making spaghetti her little?—

“Are you ready to eat?”

I’m interrupted by her excited voice, and a plate piled high with pasta and meatballs slides in front of me. A tossed salad and a garlic breadstick make up the rest of the meal. I’m impressed.

We eat and discuss her day. However, everything she tells me—from her travel research, to what book she’s currently reading, to her next cooking endeavors—is woven between theories about her sister’s whereabouts and frustration over her latest unproductive conversation with her father. She wants to help, but he says he’s handling it. It’s out of her control.

That settles it for me. I can’t burden her with tomorrow.

“What do you have planned tomorrow?” I ask, trying to figure out what I’m going to do.

She twirls pasta onto her fork and shoves it into her mouth. I smile at seeing her eat so unhindered. After chewing quickly and washing her food down with water, she grins at me.

“Going to the library to return a couple books. You?”

“Just work,” I lie, glancing away from her.

Because that’s all this strike is. Work.

And a healthy dose of revenge.

Chapter 40

Luna

Nik is acting strange again. He has gone quiet and is shoveling his food in his mouth as fast as he can. And making eye contact this evening seems to be an issue.

Once we’ve finished eating, I take the plates to the sink. I’m not even thinking about cleaning up at the moment, though, because we both need a distraction. Darting to the bar stool next to Nik, I grab my newest pajama purchase and run to the bathroom to toss it on and brush out my hair. I study myself in the mirror, worrying my lip. Will he like it?

Back in the bedroom, I crack open the window, allowing a breeze to trickle in and freshen the air. The rustling leaves offer a soothing cadence as I busy myself fluffing the king-size pillows. A fresh cotton aroma from the fabric softener I just bought drifts up with each hand chop. When the bed is put together and inviting, I tiptoe across the room to lean against the door frame.

Nik is standing at the sink, washing dishes and staring out the window. His shoulders are slumped over, and the far-off look in his eyes tugs at my heartstrings. I wish I knew what was bothering him.

I clear my throat and he turns, freezing the second his eyes land on me. Water continues to pour into the sink. His heatedgaze starts at my bare feet, travels up to my chest, and finally lands on my face. Longing—and an emotion I can’t quite put a name to—shines deeply in his sea-colored eyes.

He fumbles with the faucet, and his eyes never leave mine as he wipes his wet, soapy hands on his shirt. Stalking over to me, he rolls his shoulders, and I smirk at the seriousness on his face. When he reaches me, his hand grabs a section of my baby doll top, and he rubs the material between his fingers.

“Are you trying to kill me, Luna?” His mouth comes within inches of mine. I’ll nevereverget enough of his masculine musk.

“Never,” I say, and he kisses me. Soft, tentative lips drag over mine, and I want nothing more than to surge up and claim his mouth. But his slow kiss does more, conveysmore. And I don’t want it to ever end.

His kiss grows deeper, his tongue slipping along my closed mouth. I open for him, relishing the feel of his body crashed against mine. Lips never leaving me, he moves us backward until we’re in the bedroom and my legs are hitting the back of the bed. I tumble down onto the plush haven I’ve come to share with him. My husband.

He rips off his shirt and flings it to the ground. My hands explore his skin, tracing each muscle and dip, starved to memorize him.

Holding my eyes, he leans down, nudging my thighs apart, and whispers in my ear.

“Maddening, Luna.”

Morning comes too soon, and I cringe when light flutters over my eyelids. I reach out my hand, seeking Nik, but his side of the bed is empty and cold. Lifting my head, I notice the clothes weleft on the floor last night have been picked up. I palm my eyes while reaching for my phone. Seven a.m.

I get dressed and have a bagel for breakfast before gathering the books that need to go back to the library. After cleaning for most of the morning, and leaving several voicemails on my father’s phone, I grab my bag and send Nik a quick text, letting him know I’m thinking about him. He doesn’t respond, and the pit in my stomach sours my recent meal.

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