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“Do you have anyone in your life who you can truly be yourself with?” I ask, making my way to her.

Stopping at her back, I stare at our reflections in the window. Even in heels, she only reaches my chin. I know full well what she’s capable of, yet all I want to do is protect her, keep her safe—with me.

“Trusting someone is stupid. I can’t afford that,” she whispers as our eyes lock.

“You must lead a lonely life then,” I say. “Warning, I’m going to hug you now.”

I wrap my arms around her, and serenity envelops me. It’s the most natural thing for me to touch and hold her. Fuck if I know what this is, but I can’t stop myself.

She’s stiff in my arms, and I anticipate her pushing me away at any moment now. When she doesn’t, instead relaxing, it’s the best feeling I’ve ever experienced—elated, that’s what I am. I still remember how she threatened me, yet my arms are locked around her belly, her back flush against my chest.

“You’re one to talk. I haven’t even seen a woman coming or going from here.” She plays it off as she molds her body against mine.

“I don’t mean that, and we both know it. And was that a note of jealousy I detected?”

“You’re so full of yourself. I just don’t want to kill bystanders,” she grumbles.

“So gracious of you,” I say, not hiding my smile.

She rolls her eyes and slips from my embrace, returning to the island. The emptiness is so sudden. She can try to put distance between us, but she won’t succeed.

“Why don’t you go to the compound?” she asks, following my every move as I continue cooking.

“My family is off limits.” My voice turns colder, wanting her to understand my one true hard limit. “Do we understand each other? We can play, pretend. Fuck knows how this will end, but don’t go there.”

“I have no family. A fact I am sure you know, so let’s get one thing straight. I am not a killer of innocents. I don’t have it out for your family. I am here—” She gulps as if not being able to say it.

“For me. So what’s holding you back?”

“I don’t know.” Her voice softens and the corners of her mouth pull down. “You want honesty… It’s strange, but I’ll have to kill you. Even if it won’t please me as much as I like to pretend.”

There’s an apology written on her face as she shrugs. I walk toward her, not asking for permission but giving her enough time to take a step back and stop me. She doesn’t, and I cup her cheek.

“Tell me what it is you want in exchange?” What is this compulsion to give her everything she desires?

Her brows furrow in obvious confusion. “Why would you help me?”

“Not dying would be a good incentive.” I try to downplay it, not wanting to scare her with how strongly I feel about her.

My thumb strokes across the smoothest skin I’ve ever touched. She sighs, but leans into my touch.

“I don’t like you. At all. I should kill you just for that.”

I don’t say what we’re both aware of. Instead, I brush my nose against hers, our lips so close it would take only one inch, and then I’d have a taste of surely the most exquisite and fatal pleasure. I know with every fiber of my being that one taste will never be enough and that will be the cause of my death. But that doesn’t stop me.

The timer goes off, and she leaps away.

Clearing her throat, she takes a step back, and I return to the stove, finishing up preparing dinner. I glare at the kitchenclock. Never in my life have I wanted to dismantle an inanimate object.

Melting the butter and cream together, I season and stir before tossing the pasta in the cheese sauce. Then, I distribute the meal between two round plates.

We carry our plates to the table, and we dig into the creamy pasta.

With the dim lights and the soft music, it appears like we’re on a romantic date.

I’ve cooked for no one else before, but it’s different with her. I don’t even bother questioning why.

“It’s good.” She hums softly and takes another forkful.