Page 16 of Twisted Devotion

“The fight against The Experiment was hard on everyone,” he comments.

“Yeah, some more than others. Like the ones who actually participated in the fight.” Bitterness forces its way into my tone.

He nods. “Fair enough.”

A timer goes off, and he walks over to the double oven, slipping on mitts before opening the top door and pulling out the roast. He proceeds to strain the carrots from the hot water and dump them into the roast pan along with the sliced onions and chopped potatoes. He slides the pan back into the oven and sets the timer again. “It’ll be ready in about half an hour. Care for a glass of wine?”

I probably shouldn’t. Technically, I’m working. But there’s no way in hell I’m going to manage this gig without a glass of wine here and there. “Sure. That would be nice, thank you.”

“Red, white, or rosé?”

“Aren’t you fancy?” I think about it for a second. “White, please.”

He opens a bar fridge built into the counter, and I gape at him. “What?”

There are probably stars in my eyes. “That is magical.”

“You haven’t seen anything yet, Red,” he says in a smug voice.

I scowl, sliding off the barstool to walk over to the bar fridge so I can admire it up close. “Now don’t go and ruin it.”

He laughs, unscrewing the bottle top and pulling two glasses down from the cupboard above the fridge. “Ice?”

“That’s all right,” I tell him, and he hands the glass to me. “Thank you.”

He pours himself a glass and returns the bottle to the fridge. “I feel like we should toast to something.”

I lean against the counter opposite to him and purse my lips. “We’re not exactly celebrating anything.” People want him dead for the work he’s doing in an attempt to improve people’s lives, and I’m stuck protecting him because of it.

“A wicked new partnership?” he tries.

“Yeah,” I drag the word out. “I don’t think so.”

He sighs. “Fine. To finding common ground, then.”

“I’m not sure what you mean, but I’m worried you’re going to stand there and continue to list things until I agree to something, so,” I clink my glass against his, “cheers.”

He blinks at me then sets his glass down without taking a drink. “Way to completely remove the fun from that.”

I offer him a slow smile. “Better get used to it.”

6

Jackson Hawthorne—if nothing else—can cook a decent meal.

I haven’t eaten so much since last Christmas, and even then, I don’t remember the food being this damn good. I was fortunate enough to never experience hunger while bouncing between foster homes, but it’s been a long time since I ate this much in a single sitting.

“How was it?” he asks as he stands to start clearing the table.

“I have to hand it to you,” I say, “that was really good.”

He rests his hands on his hips and puffs out his chest. “Why, thank you.”

After a good laugh, I finally manage to get out, “Okay, knock it off. It’s only cute for so long.”

“You think I’m cute, huh?” He wiggles his eyebrows. “How forward of you. I’m utterly shocked. And this coming from the woman who vowed she’d never spend a night in my bed.”

“You’re really annoying.”

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