Page 37 of Bite
“Oh,” I manage, blinking at the whirlwind around me. “The… uh, butler didn’t mention anything about brunch.”
“Well, he wouldn’t, would he?” she muses, tittering a laugh like I’m missing out on some inside joke. “Huxley is mute, my dear.”
My brows lift. That makes sense, considering he’s never spoken a word to me, but I hadn’t realized it was because hecouldn’t.
She lets go of my hands and steps back, giving me a thorough once-over. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, we’ll fatten you up good,” she declares. “Any cravings, favorites?”
I hesitate, not about to admit that I can barely afford food half the time. “I… not really,” I murmur.
“Well, if you think of something, you be sure to let me know,” she says with a wink. “I’m Flora, the head chef.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Flora,” I reply politely.
I can feel the rest of the staff watching our interaction, pretending to be busy while their eyes flicker toward me discreetly. I shift my weight from one foot to the other uncomfortably, suddenly hyper-aware of every flutter of my heartbeat.
“Stop making her feel like she’s on show,” Flora calls over her shoulder, casting a warning glance at the others. Then she turns back to me, smile seamlessly restored. “They’re a friendly bunch, just curious. Mr. Devereaux has never taken on an exclusivedonor before. This is all new to us, but we’re thrilled to have you here.”
“Thanks,” I mumble, clasping my hands together in front of me and trying to not feel so conspicuous. “Actually… do you have anything I could feed my cat?” I add, belatedly remembering little Ozzy tucked away upstairs.
Flora’s brows lift in surprise. “You have a cat?”
“Yeah, he’s just a little thing,” I say, twisting my fingers together. “He doesn’t eat much.”
“Oh, I’m not concerned about that,” she tuts, placing a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “We’ll make sure he’s taken care of.”
“Thank you,” I breathe, the tension in my shoulders slackening a fraction
“Can I get you something to drink? Coffee?” Flora asks, already ushering me toward a chair at the island counter.
“Coffee would be amazing,” I sigh.
She directs me to sit down, then hurries off, returning moments later with a steaming cup. “How do you take it, dear?” she asks as she places it in front of me. “Cream, sugar?”
“Black is fine,” I reply, gripping the warm handle of the mug. I take a tentative sip, and it’s…amazing. The best I’ve ever had. Dangerous, because I have to fight the urge to gulp it all down at once, knowing I’ll scald my tongue if I do.
The chefs continue to work around me, peppering me with questions about my tastes and fixing me a plate as they go. When it’s placed in front of me, all I can do is stare for a moment at the buttery croissants, mini quiches, and fruit, mouth instantly watering. Even though my stomach is a war of nerves and confusion, I can’t resist. I dig in, savoring every last bite.
Bex calls just as I’m licking the last crumbs from my fingers. I excuse myself from the kitchen to answer, wandering the empty halls as I fill her in on my new living situation. She’s ecstatic,of course, bombarding me with questions and already asking when she can come over to scope the place out. She hasn’t seen anything beyond the foyer and the ballroom, but I provide a running commentary as I peek into rooms until it almost feels like she’s here exploring with me.
Eventually, I make my way back up to the bedroom. Ozzy is curled up in the center of the bed, fast asleep, tiny chest rising and falling contentedly. I lie down beside him, brushing his soft fur between my fingers and letting the warmth settle against my skin. My eyelids grow heavy, and I think I drift off for a while, cocooned in comfort I’ve barely allowed myself to imagine.
By the time the sun begins to dip low, I’ve showered in the incredible en-suite attached to my bedroom, changed into something soft and new that fits me perfectly– complete with sexy undergarments– and settled into the library downstairs. There’s a book open in my lap, but I’m not really reading. It’s hard to concentrate when my thoughts are so scattered. Ozzy has fallen asleep in the curve of an armchair nearby, clearly satisfied with our new digs.
I watch the sky deepen to a bruised twilight through the tall windows, skimming the words of an Edgar Allen Poe poem. The leather binding of the book is fragile, the pages yellowed with age. My knee bounces, fingers tapping restlessly against the arm of the chair as I read the haunting words ofAnnabel Lee, the tragic tale of an all-consuming love that persists even after death.
That’s where James finds me.
I don’t even hear him enter the room– he sweeps in like a shadow, the deep timbre of his voice slicing through the silence like a blade.
“Thatwasn’t part of the agreement.”
My head whips toward the sound so fast the book nearly tumbles from my lap, heart lurching into my throat. He fillsthe doorway, broad shoulders eating up the width of it, slacks pressed and shirt crisp. His platinum hair is slicked back, the moonlight catching in his pale eyes and making them glow faintly.Unnervingly.
But he isn’t looking at me.
He’s looking at my kitten.
Chapter
