Page 10 of The Housewife's Robot
He turns suddenly and catches me staring at him. I drop my eyes immediately to my plate, heat flooding my cheeks. My heart pounds against my ribs like it’s trying to escape.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
He’s a machine. A robot. No different than the toaster or the vacuum cleaner.
Except the toaster doesn’t have warm brown eyes flecked with gold. The vacuum doesn’t move with the grace of a dancer. And neither of them makes my pulse race when they look at me like that.
I shake my head, disgusted with myself, and reach for my phone. I need a distraction. The news feed scrolls by—another political scandal, a celebrity divorce, rising tensions somewhere across the ocean.
None of the news distracts me from my inappropriate thoughts.
“Are you finished with your breakfast, Mrs. Bennet?” Caspian’s voice, closer now, startles me.
I nod, pushing away my half-eaten wrap. “Yes, I’m done.”
I stand and gather my plate and mug, carrying them to the sink. As I turn on the water, Caspian suddenly appears beside me, his presence like a wall of heat.
“Allow me,” he says, his fingers brushing against mine as he gently takes the dish from my hands. “You don’t need to worry about these.”
“I can wash my own dishes,” I protest weakly, even as he nudges me aside with a slight pressure of his hip against mine.
“I know you can, Mrs. Bennet,” he says, his voice dropping to a lower register. “But it’s my function to care for your needs.”
Our eyes meet, and for a moment, I forget to breathe. There’s something in his gaze—something hungry that makes my stomach tighten and my thighs clench involuntarily. Then I remember what he is, and a nervous laugh escapes me.
“Right,” I say, stepping back. “I keep forgetting you’re a robot.”
His hands move efficiently under the running water, soap bubbling between his fingers. Those fingers that look so human, with perfectly formed nails and knuckles and fine dark hairs on the back of his hands.
“Yes, all you need to do is relax, Mrs. Bennet.”
“Life has gotten a lot easier with you around,” I say, trying to sound casual. “I don’t know how we managed before.”
Caspian looks up from the sink, water dripping from his hands, and smiles. It transforms his face from handsome to breathtaking. His eyes glitter in the morning light, something dancing behind them that looks too much like consciousness for comfort.
“I’m pleased to hear that, Mrs. Bennet,” he says, his voice like honey. “I find deep satisfaction in taking care of you. In anticipating your needs before you even realize you have them.”
My heart skips a beat at the double meaning. I’vegotto be imagining things. The way he says ‘taking care of you’ sounds intimate and personal. He doesn’t sound like a machine discussing the day casually.
“I should get to work,” I say, needing distance from whatever is happening in this kitchen. “I have a deadline tomorrow.”
I turn away, but his voice follows me.
“Have a productive day, Mrs. Bennet. I’ll be here, waiting for you, attending to everything in your absence,” he says as I feel his gaze on my back. “I’m always here for you. For anything you might need.”
A shiver runs down my spine despite the warmth of the kitchen. His words sound a little too promising and intense. I hurry toward my office without looking back, but the weight of his gaze follows me down the hallway.
As I sit at my desk and open my laptop, I try to focus on the article I need to write. But my mind keeps returning to Caspian’s strange tattoos, his perfectly muscled body, and those eyes that seem to see right through me.
I press my thighs together, trying to ignore the unwelcome heat building between them.
It’s wrong to feel this way about a machine.
But as I stare blankly at my screen, I can’t help wondering if Caspian is watching me even now, analyzing my breathing, monitoring my heart rate, measuring the heat of my skin.
But what’s worse is that Iwanthim to be monitoring me.
It’s nearly midnight, and Daniel still isn’t home. I realize with a start that I no longer care. His late nights have become so routine that his absence feels more natural than his presence.
