Page 16 of Unbearable Attraction
Minerva sniffed his fingers delicately, then immediately rubbed against his palm with obvious approval. Her usually aloof cat was actively seeking attention from Luka, purring loud enough to wake the neighbors.
"Traitor," Leenah told her familiar, though she found herself oddly pleased by Minerva's acceptance of him. "I suppose you think he should stay for coffee too?"
Minerva's answering purr suggested she absolutely did.
"Two against one," Luka said with a smile that transformed his entire face. "Looks like I'm outnumbered."
The kitchen felt tinier with his large frame filling the space, but not uncomfortably so. If anything, having him there made the room feel more complete somehow, like it had been designed for two people instead of one. Leenah busied herself with the familiar ritual of making coffee, grateful for the routine actions that gave her something to do with her hands.
"So," she said, measuring grounds into the filter, "dark moon. That's when the moon is completely invisible, right? New moon phase?"
"Yeah." Luka settled into one of her kitchen chairs, which creaked slightly under his weight. "Happens about once a month. Question is whether Aiyana meant the next one in the lunar cycle, or if there's some specific dark moon that's significant."
"My grandmother's journals might have more information about timing." Leenah reached for the coffee mugs on the shelf above the sink, stretching to reach the ones she saved for company. A sharp edge of broken ceramic caught her palm, and she hissed in surprise.
"Damn. I forgot about that chip." She pulled her hand back, noting the thin line of blood welling across her palm where the damaged mug had sliced the skin.
"Let me see." Luka was on his feet immediately, crossing the small kitchen in two strides. "How bad is it?"
"It's nothing, just a scratch." But she found herself holding out her hand anyway, letting him examine the shallow cut with a gentleness that seemed at odds with his size.
His hands were impossibly careful as they cradled her much smaller palm. The cut was minor, barely more than a paper cut, but the way Luka studied it with serious concentration made her pulse quicken.
"We should clean this," he said, his voice dropping to that protective rumble. "You've been handling old books all day. No telling what kind of bacteria might be on your hands."
"It's really not—" she started, but he was already moving toward her sink, still holding her hand in his larger ones.
"Humor me," he said, turning on the water and testing the temperature against his wrist. "I've seen what happens when woodworkers ignore small cuts. Trust me, it's better to be overly cautious."
The simple care in his actions—testing the water temperature, positioning her hand under the gentle stream, using his thumb to make sure the blood was thoroughly rinsed away—sent unexpected warmth radiating through her entire body. This wasn't passion or desire, though those feelings were definitely present. This was something quieter, more intimate. The kind of domestic tenderness she'd convinced herself she didn't need.
"There," he said softly, examining the clean cut. "It's not deep. Should heal fine on its own."
But he didn't let go of her hand. Instead, he stood there in her small kitchen with the November wind rattling the windows,holding her palm in both of his hands like it was something precious. His eyes met hers, and she saw her own awareness reflected back, the recognition that this moment was about far more than first aid.
"Luka," she said quietly, though she wasn't sure if it was a warning or an invitation.
"I know," he replied, his voice rough with restraint. "This complicates things."
"Everything's already complicated,” she replied, probably revealing too much about her growing feelings.
"Yeah," he agreed, his thumb tracing gently across her knuckles. "It is."
The coffee maker gurgled behind them, filling the kitchen with the rich scent of brewing caffeine. Minerva had settled herself on the windowsill, watching them with the kind of pointed attention that suggested she found their interaction far more interesting than anything happening outside.
Leenah knew she should pull away, should put some distance between herself and the man whose simple touch was making her question every wall she'd built around her heart. This was exactly the kind of emotional complication she'd spent years avoiding, the kind of connection that made people vulnerable to disappointment and loss.
But standing there in the warm light of her kitchen, with Luka's careful hands holding hers and his amber eyes full of understanding, she found herself reluctant to step back into the safety of solitude.
"We should probably discuss our search strategy," she said, though her voice lacked conviction.
"Probably," Luka agreed, but he made no move to release her hand.
The domestic intimacy of the moment—standing close in her kitchen while coffee brewed and winter wind howled outside—felt more dangerous than any supernatural manifestation. Because this was the kind of scene that made her want things she'd sworn off, made her imagine what it might be like to have someone to come home to, to share quiet evenings and morning coffee with.
The kind of things that terrified her almost as much as ancient spirits demanding impossible ceremonies.
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