Page 30

She rolls her eyes. “She thinks he’s the greatest thing since sliced bread. It’s ridiculous how much she loves him. I think Dylan gives her a stipend every month to keep her out of our business.”

“He pays your mother to stay away from you?”

“I don’t know for sure, I’m just guessing, but yes, I think so.”

“There has to be something you can do.”

“My mother got power of attorney when I was seventeen. It’s still in effect. I don't know how to change it, and I don't have the money to hire an attorney to help me.”

The oven’s timer goes off, and I get to my feet. “We can talk about that over dinner, but that was the oven.”

“Great. Let me help.” She pads into the kitchen ahead of me and though I do my best not to stare at the sway of her ass, I honestly can’t help myself.

She’s a natural beauty. No makeup, hair in a ponytail, wearing one of my old robes—she still takes my breath away.

There’s no universe where I’m anything but a gentleman, but fuck, she’s making it hard.

Making me hard.

I’ve had a hard-on since she got here, and there isn’t a damn thing I can do about it.

Ten

Willow

“Did you make this?” I ask, taking a bite of the steaming food then promptly moaning.

Meatloaf, green beans, and mashed potatoes isn’t a meal I eat often—heck, I can’t think of the last time I’ve had such a stick to my ribs type of meal.

And it’s delicious—the meat is tender and flavorful, the ketchup on top seasoned with something that makes me want to ask for more. The potatoes are buttery and smooth, melting in my mouth, and the green beans, well, they’re green beans, but they’re tasty, even if they are veggie-like.

“No,” he says. “My housekeeper stocks my freezer.” His mouth curves up just the slightest bit. “All I had to do was reheat it. Though,” he mutters, and I notice he’s pushed his veggies to the side, “I can cook things.”

“Like what?” I ask, smiling as he makes a neat little pile of the green stuff instead of actually eating it.

“I can grill a mean steak.”

My mouth tips up.

“What?”

“You can grill a mean steak?” My smile widens. “That’s caveman for Me hunt. Me kill.”

He cracks up then leans across the table and tugs at a lock of my hair. “I can cook other things.”

“Like what?” I ask again.

He scowls, but his eyes are dancing and I find myself teasing him.

I. Find. Myself. Teasing. Him.

I want to sit in that amazing fact..

But I don’t want to be pulled from this moment, don’t want to lose this light feeling inside me.

It’s been too long.

“I’ll amend,” I say, “can you cook anything that doesn’t involve slapping something on a grill and blasting it with fire?” I stifle my giggle as I scoop up another bite of mashed potatoes, making sure to get some of that tasty ketchup topping—call me weird, but it’s delicious and I hope I get the chance to ask the housekeeper for the recipe.