Page 106 of P.S. I'm Still Yours

He hesitates for a bit but eventually comes to his senses. “I’d argue, but I don’t have a fucking clue how to make—” He checks his phone once more. “—scallops on buttery parsnips with caviar.”

A laugh leaves my mouth. “Good. Now, chop, chop before I eat my hand.”

The shadow of a smile spreads across his face as he makes his way to the fridge to grab what he needs.

The time on the stove reads 12:49, and I should be sleeping like the dead by now. I work at eight in the morning, and the last thing I need is Ania telling me to look alive while she’s lecturing me on all the things I’m doing wrong.

Not that my lack of sleep will make much of a difference. She’d find something to complain about even if I were the most rested woman on Earth.

It doesn’t help that I’m wide-awake and more stimulated than ever. Not even an hour ago, I thought I was going to fall asleep if I closed my eyes for too long.

Then Kane showed up, and my energy levels rose like I’d just downed a thousand shots of espresso.

I sit on the counter behind me, watching Kane grab a pan out of the kitchen island’s drawer. “So, tell me, Chef Wilder, how come the only things you know how to cook are grilled cheeses and eggs?”

He had it right earlier.

I’m being way too nice to him.

Maybe because he’s acting like the guy I used to know right now. Or maybe because I needed a night off from hating him. That shit is exhausting, and work is draining me enough as it is.

I’ll just go back to hating his guts tomorrow.

“It’s what the guys and I would make on the bus after a show,” he says, probably referring to his touring band, and cracks two eggs into a mixing bowl. “You want cheese in it?”

“Sure.”

I scan the food he’s gathered on the counter. Tomatoes, spinach, pre-shredded cheese, and mushrooms. I figured he’d give it to me plain, but I appreciate that he’s making an effort to make it good.

I watch as he gets to work, analyzing the ink on his tanned forearm. It’s a continuation of the bleeding rose tattoo on his shoulder, and fuck, there’s something… strangely attractive… about the way the muscles in his arms flex as he whisks the egg with a fork.

Did I just think that?

I get that I’ve been going through a dry spell, but I did not just get turned on by a guy whisking eggs.

What the fuck, Hadley?

I tear my eyes away, the urge to run for the hills building with each passing second. I don’t like what being around this guy does to me.

I feel like little Hadley all over again, fantasizing about the one guy she shouldn’t want, and I will not allow myself to get back into that headspace.

I need to get away from him.

“Hey, on second thought, I’m really not that hungry.” I try to slide off the countertop, but his arm flies out to stop me.

He doesn’t look at me, though, keeping his eyes glued to the task at hand as he holds out his arm in front of me to block me in. “You’re fucking shaking, Hadley. You’re not leaving until you eat.”

I glance down at my fingers, the familiar tremor in my hands unmissable. This crap happens every time my blood glucose drops too low.

Doesn’t stop me from planning my escape. “I’m okay, really. I’ll just grab a granola bar or something.”

Every nerve in my body springs to life when his large hand wraps around my knee. I zero in on his rings, swallowing hard when his fingers dig into my flesh, holding me in place.

“Not a chance.” His irritated growl sets my skin on fire.

Need. To. Leave.

Now.

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