Page 32 of Claimed By the Sinful Dragon
How was I supposed to be focusing on making soup when the enemies were about to become lovers? And so what that I’d spent the afternoon reading? He was the one who gave me the book in the first place. Which I’dthoughtwas generous until he’d snatched it back.
I stalked around the kitchen, snatching up pots and pans at random. I wasn’t about to waste my best efforts on a book thief. If he wanted preparation, he should try being nice.
…Like lending me a book.
Ugh. This was dumb. Sure, I could deliberately burn whatever I ended up cooking—I could probably burn water if I put my mind to it—but that was just going to put him in an even worse mood. And both of us in a bad mood would do me no favors at all. Also, I’d skipped breakfast on account of him not showing, and skipped lunch while I’d been busy pampering myself. Now that I thought about it, I was famished.
All right, so intentionally sabotaging dinner was out. But that didn’t mean much, seeing as how ninety percent of my sabotaging was entirely unintentional. Ah well, best see what I had left to work with, at least.
I stepped inside the cold room…and stopped dead. This morning, the shelves had been near empty—testament to my heavy experimentation over the last week—but now they were crammed with food of every imaginable type. Some I recognized—carrots, potatoes, more of those wretched mushrooms—and others were going to be entirely guesswork. There were dozens of cuts of meat, which would be making me salivate, if my experiences over the last week hadn’t been enough to entirely change my perception of food.
I pushed my surprise aside and ran an assessing eye over the array of ingredients. Given that Rook was already pissed at having to wait, I was going to need something I could cook quickly. Stews and soups were out…but that was probably for the best. I gnawed at my lower lip for a moment, then my gaze snagged on some venison steaks—already cut. Perfect. I grabbedthem, along with a handful of potatoes, and headed back into the kitchen. Quick and simple, and—hopefully—easy.
I threw the steaks in a pan and turned on the heat, then got started peeling and slicing the potatoes. It wasn’t long until the meat was sizzling, and the potatoes were doing something similar in their own pan. I’d cut them thin, so I hoped they’d cook quickly. Moving quickly, I grabbed a couple of plates, then prodded at the steaks for a few minutes until I decided they were probably cooked.
Serving was as straightforward as cooking—I just tossed the food onto the plates, grabbed hold of them, and hurried from the kitchen
Rook’s eyes smoldered as I stepped into the dining hall, his nostrils flaring as he scented something, presumably the food. He wasn’t pulling a face, at least, so that was something.
I set his in front of him, keeping my eyes cast down.
“I’m sorry for the delay,” I told him honestly. “And for messing up after you loaned me the book.”
He grunted in reply, and I kept from rolling my eyes through force of will alone. Fine. I’d made the effort, at least. I should have known better than to think he’d actually appreciate it, far less show it.
I moved towards my preferred seat, the one closest to the door, but he stopped me with a word.
“No.”
“I’m…sorry?” I said, turning back to him.
“Not that seat,” he clarified, and then gestured to one seat along from his. “This one.”
Ducking my head, I set my plate down where he’d indicated, and slipped into the seat, uncomfortably aware of our proximity. With just one seat separating us, we were close enough to touch. Not that I hadanyintention of touching him. Not in this lifetime. Gods, why did I want to touch him so badly?
I snatched up my cutlery…because I was hungry. Not because I needed something to stop me reaching out. Oh man, I was in so much trouble with this guy. Something about him threw me completely off kilter. He wasn’t even that h— Well, okay, he was ridiculously hot, with that sharp jawline and those stormy eyes thatalwaysseemed to see straight through me, and the shirt that fit his body like he was born to wear one, and Iknewdamn well what was hiding under it, and—
Not the point. I’d seen hot guys before, and they didn’t do this to me. Especially when they were assholes, which, granted, described just about every male I knew.
Anyway. Food. I forced my eyes downward.
“This looks…edible,” Rook said, his voice uncharitably suspicious.
“Well, you should have seen what you missed for breakfast.”
“No need. I smelled it when I walked in.” His nose wrinkled. “I consider myself fortunate I was elsewhere.”
I dropped my cutlery back on the table with a clatter, glaring at him. “You know what? Fuck you.”
“Fuck me?” He looked halfway between puzzled and pissed, but I definitely had him beat when it came to the anger.
“Yeah. Fuck you. I’m trying, okay? I’m doing my best. YouknowI’ve never cooked before coming here, and I don’t think it’s fair for you to expect me to be suddenly able to prepare perfectmeals in the space of five minutes when I don’t even know what half of the ingredients are and Ineverhad anyone to teach me, and now suddenly you’re acting like my life depends on it, and…”
I sniffed. Fuck. When did I start crying? Rook stared at me mutely for a long moment, horrified, and I wished the fucking ground would open up and swallow me. Why was I crying about food?
“You’re crying.”
“Oh, fucking ten out of ten for observation,” I snapped, dashing the tears from my eyes.
