Page 63 of Cerulean Truth (Sapere #1)

THIRTY

JAMES

There were other options available besides throwing Emma over my shoulder and forcing her to spend the night in my loft so I could keep an eye on her.

But by the time I’d alerted the Maumars of the breach, none of them seemed acceptable.

She would never be as safe as she was with me.

So that’s where she would be, even against her will.

I could live with her being angry at me, maybe even hating me.

I could not live with her being in danger. Again.

So now she was in my loft, filling up the entire space with her annoyingly enticing perfume and sitting all comfortable on my couch as if she owned the place. Which, for some elusive reason, I seemed to rather enjoy.

“Do you have something to eat?” she suddenly asked.

“What would you like?” I responded, relieved she changed the subject to something less tense.

“I would love a steak, but at this point, I’ll take whatever you’ve got.”

I looked up in surprise. I wasn’t a great chef but there was one dish I made to perfection.

"Your wish is my command, milady," I joked, strolling into the kitchen and flicking on the oven to a low temperature.

She followed me closely, her brow furrowing. "You’re cooking it? Not…translating it?”

I shrugged. “I had to learn how to make it in order to translate it. Now, the process just soothes me or something.”

She nodded, but a sense of worry crept into her features. “You’re cooking a steak in the oven?”

“I’m just preheating the steak in the oven,” I clarified, retrieving two gorgeous pieces of Wagyu meat from the fridge and draping a pat of butter over each.

“I’ll sear it in this.” I gestured to my trusty steak pan.

She watched my actions with suspicion, and it almost amused me to see how low her expectations of my cooking-skills were.

“Will you be sticking with Scotch or would you like a glass of red to accompany that?” I asked politely, while we waited for the oven to work its magic.

She blinked, as if my politeness were a capital offense.

“I’ll stick with the Scotch, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t.”

Scotch and steak. Finally, we had something in common.

I refilled our glasses and observed as she perched on the counter, still eyeing me as if I were preparing to cook her fried squirrels.

"You know, you seem to have some trust issues," I remarked dryly.

She snorted. "You would know, being the expert on them."

Touché .

"I'm the expert on many things," I replied with a wink.

"Like on how to be an ass? Yeah, you've got that down to a science," she retorted swiftly, her tone carrying a playful edge.

"An ass who's cooking you dinner, I might add."

“Which is honestly, the least you could do, considering you went all caveman on mine.”

I rolled my eyes. “Fine. I went all caveman on your ass, and now I’m making you steak. Can we call it even?”

Emma smiled as she slid of the counter. Then, she almost gave me a heart attack when she replied, “Keep feeding me Scotch and steak, and you’ve got it.”

I tried to keep the shock from showing on my face. Holy shit. An actual truce between Emma and myself. People were probably skiing in hell right about now.

As if on cue, I retrieved the steaks from the oven and seasoned them with a sprinkle of salt and pepper, ensuring both sides kissed by the perfect amount of flavor. With precision, I seared them on both sides, finalizing the dish with the expected but unmatched finesse.

“I had no idea you could cook,” Emma remarked, her tone tinged with surprise and perhaps even a hint of admiration.

There was a twinkle in her eyes as she took her place at the bar, clearly expecting to be served. I bit back a snarky comment, reminding myself of our truce.

Shrugging, I replied, “I don’t really. I just know how to make my favorite dish.”

A small smile played on Emma’s lips as she responded softly, "It’s my favorite too."

I set up the bar, grabbed a stool beside her, and served up our amazingly well-prepared steaks. Watching her take that first bite, I couldn’t help but study her expression, which went from utter surprise to fucking delight in a second.

She moaned as she put the second piece of meat in her mouth and I wanted to strangle every man that ever heard her make that sound.

“Holy s…” she almost cursed. “This is amazing! This meat is literally melting in my mouth.”

I grinned, stupidly proud of myself and yearning for more compliments from her.

However, in a completely unexpected turn, she ate the rest of her meal in total silence. Which stunned me even more than our declaration of peace. Up until then, I hadn’t known her to be quiet for more than a minute.

Clearly, all it took was some good food.

By the time she polished off her plate, her mood had done a complete one-eighty since our arrival, and she was practically giddy.

“You know what we should do?” she said, mischief lacing her voice.

I squinted, trying to hide my smile at her sudden enthusiasm. “What?”

“You happen to have any cigars?” she asked, catching me off guard.

My eyes widened in surprise.

“Scotch, steak and cigars? Really?” I asked pleasantly taken by how she had just listed three of my favorite things.

“Absolutely! There’s no better combination.”

Couldn’t argue with that.

"I'll do you one even better," I said, rising from the bar.

"Upstairs, there's a private rooftop terrace with an unobstructed view of Cyclos. I know you're not the biggest fan of heights, but we could enjoy our smoky dessert up there?"

Her eyes lit up and her lips curled in delight. And I instantly realized I would kill actual people to make her smile like that again.

"I'd love that," she responded softly, her tone carrying a hint of excitement.

She hopped off the stool effortlessly and strolled into the kitchen like she owned the place, clearing off the plates and stacking them in the sink without a second thought.

Grabbing the almost half-finished bottle of Scotch, she scanned the loft eagerly, her gaze flickering over every corner as if she were on a treasure hunt.

"What are you looking for?" I asked, suppressing an amused smile.

"Something to keep us warm?" she suggested. Right. The bubble. Not like we could conjure up a cozy little fire. Or something less obviously romantic.

I quickly made my way to the cupboard and took out two blankets.

"Will these do?"

She nodded, taking our glasses in one hand. "Absolutely."

"Through there," I gestured towards the concealed door in my hallway, leading up to a small staircase, invisible to anyone who didn’t know what to look for. As she headed in that direction, I hesitated, not wanting to risk our fragile truce. But…

"Emma," I called out, catching her attention.

She turned around, her eyes questioning mine.

"If we’re on the roof and notice anything off…"

"I’ll do exactly as you say without further argument,” she promised, shocking me with her lack of stubbornness.

I blinked. “Damn woman, if I had known steak made you so docile, I would’ve fed you a long time ago.”

She laughed and I almost joined her.

It took us but a few minutes to reach my favorite spot in the whole Collective.

Inspired by the rooftop fun I used to have with the boys at the Spring Palace, I had insisted on having exclusive use of the Winter’s Palace’s roof when I accepted the role of Leader of Cyclos.

Luckily, the Maumars agreed and convinced the Council I’d needed the space.

The rooftop was completely empty—no chairs, couches, tables, or anything to sit on—just a bare, dirty surface.

I preferred it this way since I could always translate whatever I needed.

But Emma was completely undeterred by the less-than-comfortable seating situation and put down a blanket to sit on.

I frowned, confused about what she was doing, until she draped half of the second blanket around her shoulders and held out the other half.

“You mind sharing one?” she asked boldly.

I swallowed, feeling slightly nervous about sitting so close to her. “No. I don’t.”

James Walker, First Offensive, killer of the masses, turned Leader of the largest Collective on the planet. Nervous to sit next to Emma Thompson on a blanket.

Emma put the two glasses before us and refilled each of them while I took out the cigars I’d brought from the loft.

“Cohiba?” she asked, pleasantly surprised.

“One of the perks of portals—no customs.” I winked.

She stared at me as I cut the ends and took out a lighter.

“You seem…” she began, hesitating slightly.

I raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to continue.

“… relaxed?” she finished, her voice soft with uncertainty. I breathed a silent sigh of relief, grateful she hadn’t detected my inner nerves, and offered her a cigar.

“Is that not a good look on me?” I quipped as she accepted it, lighting her end with practiced ease.

“It’s a confusing one,” she retorted, exhaling a wisp of smoke, but her voice remained soft.

“Hard not to be relaxed after a good steak, great Scotch, and a fine cigar,” I remarked casually.

Her smile widened. “And my good company, of course.”

“That, I could do without,” I teased, prompting her to playfully punch my arm. I barked out a laugh.

She blinked, quickly masking her surprise at the sound coming out of my mouth.

“You know, a lot of men would be quite honored by my presence,” she huffed.

“And with good reason,” I added truthfully. She frowned, clearly confused by my conflicting statements.

"You, James Walker, are a very confusing man," Emma declared, her tone laced with frustration.

I chuckled softly. "And you, Emma Thompson, are a very challenging woman.”

She rolled her eyes, clearly displeased by my response.

“That was actually a compliment,” I remarked.

“Didn’t sound like one,” she muttered, putting her lips around the shaft of the cigar, sending a jolt through me.

Maybe this wasn’t the best plan after all.

I averted my eyes and tried to think of the Maumars until the images of her putting her lips around my shaft vanished.

Taking a long draw from my cigar, I let the smooth smoke swirl in my mouth, the sensation calming my racing thoughts. Glancing sideways, I caught sight of Emma, her face illuminated by the moonlight. I’d never been a poet but seeing her like that, made me wish I were.

Something deep inside of me stirred. Something that had been asleep for a long time.

“You’re a beautiful woman,” I said, my voice hoarse.

Her eyes snapped to mine, widened in surprise and obvious shock.

Her lips parted but no sound came out. Apparently, by actually complementing her, I had achieved the impossible: rendering miss lawyer completely speechless.

I held her gaze and smiled slowly, adding, “How’s that for a compliment?”

She swallowed hard, her eyes still locked on mine, searching for something I couldn't quite make out.

My heart started pounding, and oxygen seemed inexplicably scarce.

Then, she broke out one of the most beautiful smiles I’d ever seen and said, “Needs work.”

I laughed, caught off guard by her playful reply, and she joined in. This woman was making me…

Before I could finish that thought, she shifted slightly closer, just as a shiver ran through her.

“You cold?” I asked softly.

“Nah, it’s fine,” she replied, but the goosebumps on her arms betrayed her.

Shifting the cigar from my right hand to my left, I wrapped my arm around her shoulders, drawing her closer against my body for warmth.

“Is this okay?” I asked, trying to discern any warning signs she might be uncomfortable.

Her gaze dropped to my lips for a second and my blood started to rush again.

“Yes.”

A single word. A single, three-letter word. But those three letters made all the difference in the world because I had her in my arms and she let me.