Page 44 of His Wild Storm
Not that I really thought it would help.
When he turns back to me, he has a bowl of salad in one hand which he sets in front of me along with a small plate. I almost fall off the stool when he goes to the oven, which I didn’t even notice was set to warm, and pulls out a tray of garlic bread.
“And garlic bread?” I wave my hand over the feast he’s prepared. “I’m not sure if I’ll ever be able to leave if these are the meals you cook,” my voice is a joking lilt.
As I glance his way, and away from the food, how much he wishes my words weren’t a joke is written all over his face. Before I can say anything, even though I’m not sure where to start, his expression smooths out into a smile.
“This is just the beginning, little storm,” he says with a flourish as he sets down the pan before refilling our glasses.
I eye him, part wary and part suspicion. I’m onto him now. “Don’t tell me there’s dessert,” I groan the words, my mouth already watering.
Knox doesn’t answer, but when I look at him while wiping my chin and hoping no drool has escaped, he winks at me. That wink. It’s dangerous as hell.
I’m fairly sure he knows it too.
“This smells amazing,” I gush.
Thinking back over the last year, this kind of meal hasn’t even been on my radar. Not only did he have everything under control in the kitchen, but it looks like a dish I could get at a restaurant. It’s a little unnerving how good he is at this.
Is this his schtick?
I shake off the thought because it doesn’t really matter if it is. He doesn’t owe me anything, not really. And we both have pasts. Hell, I have a son because of my past.
As Knox settles next to me, I fight the instinct to stiffen up. He’s not going to hurt me. I know it; I believe it.
If only I could get the instincts beaten into me, the ones I had to come by the hard way, to get on board. The last thing I want to do is hurt Knox’s feelings if he can’t understand my reactions. There are times when I know I’m safe, but protecting myself became muscle memory along the way. Muscle memory which will take time to unlearn.
“It does smell pretty damn good,” Knox’s voice is filled with pride.
When I look at him, his chest is puffed out like he’s the king of the world. It’s not like he doesn’t have something to be proud of, but there’s something disarming about him not taking himself too seriously. His words could come off as arrogant but it doesn’t feel that way. It feels silly.
And self-deprecating which is at total odds with the words.
He’s quite the contradiction.
“Eat,” he encourages as he looks my way and nods toward my plate, “before it gets cold.”
With an eager nod, I pick up my fork and twirl some pasta around the tines before spearing a shrimp. I don’t even pay attention to Knox as I take my bite, and the flavors explode on my tongue. I make a sound as I close my eyes and sway on my seat because it’s damn good.
“Woah,” I groan, “this is amazing.”
I open my eyes to find that Knox has served me some salad along with bread. He’s looking at me with raw hunger in his eyes, his entire focus on my mouth. As much as I want to cover my lips or wipe my mouth, I stop myself.
This isn’t about having a mess on my face.
This is about something far more primal. Something which has this man on the edge of going feral.
Is it wrong that I want to find out what it feels like to be at the center of the maelstrom? If only I were ready for it, but I don’t think I am. Not yet.
Knox calls me his storm, but I think he got it wrong. I was finding my balance, my path forward, and Knox is who cameinto my life without warning. He could leave me devastated in his wake or he could simply give me the rain needed to thrive.
Time will tell on which way it’ll go.
Our meal is quiet, but it’s not an uncomfortable silence. It’s almost as if he’s giving me space, while sitting right next to me, to allow me to process our time together. If he’s doing it on purpose, I’m grateful. It’s exactly what I need to calm my racing heart and to help me not feel so overwhelmed.
I made a promise to the man that I would give this a try. And I’m not going back on that. When he cares enough to give me a moment, it shows me how important this is to him to work.
“Why tattooing?” The question slips from my lips as we’re finishing up dinner, our plates basically empty except for a few bites of bread.
