Page 8

CHAPTER 8

A SURPRISE WAITS AT HOME

Nadira

E verything is quiet, but a sixth sense tells me Julian has been in my apartment again. Leaper watches me while I watch the tape of Julian carrying shopping bags into the kitchen where I don’t have a camera set up.

I expel an exasperated breath as I add another to-do item on my list. The man didn’t give me any time to upgrade my system before I left on the job, but I’ll make damn sure he regrets breaking into my place again.

New cameras, maybe a few traps that would impress even Kevin McCallister. As annoyed as I am at Julian, if he wanted me dead, I wouldn’t have made it home alive. Honestly, I don’t know what annoys me more at this point, the way he wields my weakness for chocolate cake or that he took my kill.

I groan at the latter as he pauses and winks at the camera before leaving.

I’ll definitely correct my security oversight. But first, I rush to the kitchen with Leaper eagerly following me and setting up residence at the threshold.

Nothing looks awry, but the Julian I’ve known less than two full days wouldn’t leave without having done something. Despite the seeming normalcy of everything being where I put it, I begin opening cabinets. Leaper’s head bounces back and forth as she tracks my movements.

Julian has grouped my dishes by pattern and function. The canned goods and seasonings that I gave up on organizing a long time ago could give supermarket aisles competition for their orderliness. When I get to the fridge, I bypass the orderliness and zero in on the folded paper in front of a quart bottle of milk.

Don’t worry about grocery shopping.

How does he predict my reactions before I realize what I’m doing? This whole time I’ve been mentally adding to my shopping list. But now I don’t have to. I return to his note.

You’ll also find an oven-ready meal prepared for you on the second shelf so you don’t have to spend too many hours in the kitchen. Take your time to relax. And when you’re ready, come find me.

I’m starting to hate his insistence that I find him. He’s the one who’s fixated on me. Yes, I want to kick his ass, and yes, I’ll probably kill him while I’m at it. But if this is his way of wooing, he needs lessons. And the fridge filled with foods I like isn’t it.

My stomach growls. In a huff, I take out the meal he prepared for me. On it are simple reheating instructions. I bet he doesn’t know nothing about seasoning. I throw the food in the oven and set the timer for the suggested minutes. As I take a wineglass from the cabinet and fill it with a pinot noir, I chuckle at the thought of roasting him for his subpar cooking skills the next time we meet.

When I realize that I’m looking forward to seeing him again, I hit my forehead with my palm. Something must have addled my thinking when I was unaware. What had he used to knock me out? Whatever it was must still be in my system, or maybe I’m anticipating the ass whooping I’ll rain down on his presumptuous stalker ass.

The timer on the oven dings and I plate the pork chops and root vegetables. I line up a slew of seasonings to doctor what I expect will be a bland meal. The scintillating scent of the pork and vegetables is not making my mouth water and is not an indication the food will taste good.

Leaper follows me to the table and jumps onto the chair beside mine and waits for me to set my plate on the surface.

“I don’t have high hopes and neither should you.” I sit and slice through the juicy pork chop and spear it and a carrot onto the fork. Leaper pulls my hand to sniff what’s on the utensil before settling into her loaf position to watch me eat.

The first contact of the food with my tongue is a sinful pleasure. Spices play a symphony in my mouth, causing me to demolish my meal. As I set down my silverware on the pristine plate, I glower toward the kitchen where the leftovers are. Julian doesn’t deserve his culinary skills, but I’m not going to spite myself and not take a second helping. I pause and stare at the leftovers. Maybe seconds will be better after my workout.

My regimen isn’t out of some goal for an ideal body. My body is the ideal for me. I love my larger-than-life curves. I exercise to maintain my flexibility and stamina for my job by going to the gym four times a week. I can keep pace and beat many of my trimmer counterparts, and that’s all that matters.

After sweating out my frustration with a sparring bout at the gym, I return to my apartment, my head clearer and my indebtedness for a delicious meal reset to zero.

How Julian breached my security, not once but twice, remains a mystery. Calm now from a meal acclaimed chefs would envy and a workout my muscles can barely keep me upright, I go room by room and note where I need to upgrade while searching for new hidden devices I missed in my previous search. Again, nothing turns up, leaving me in a state of annoyed curiosity as I turn in for the night.

The next morning, I wake with the echo of a voice promising to be my forever family. No headache this time, which is a blessing, but I feel more exhausted than when I fell asleep, as if I went ten rounds with the World Boxing Council’s heavyweight world champion. I haul myself out of bed and pull on a robe over my naked body. Dragging my feet along the floor, I go to feed Leaper.

I stumble to a halt. Where is Leaper? She would usually demand her breakfast before now, but she isn’t leading me to her food bowl. On alert, I listen for the slightest noise. My body tenses when muted sounds emit from my kitchen along with the savory mouth-watering scent of grilling meat. I close my eyes, hating that I’m not surprised this man has invaded my home again and that I’m going to eat and enjoy what he’s preparing. At least, the answer to Leaper’s whereabouts is no longer in question.

After turning my closet upside down, I spy a pair of pajamas, the only one I own, that Chelsea gifted me last year. Once I don the extra layer of clothes under my robe for the extra barrier between me and my intruder it provides, I head to the kitchen.

Leaper chomps away at her breakfast while Julian maneuvers through the space as if he owns it. He has familiarized himself enough; I suppose. From the loose sweatpants around his waist and his bare torso, today’s appearance is a product of last night’s breaking and entering. I quiet the voice in my head asking where in my apartment he slept. If I don’t, then the image of us wrapped together will dominate my thoughts. Sex should be the farthest from my mind, but the muscle play along Julian’s back and arms make a mockery of my cool-headedness. The answer may ruin what looks to be an amazing meal. A frittata loaded with vegetables and thinly sliced grilled steak sits beside an avocado salad.

Having lived alone after leaving the orphanage, I became accustomed to doing everything for myself. And as much as I appreciate good food, I don’t take the care Julian does in preparing and plating the meals . A warmth suffuses my insides. The closest anyone has come is when Chelsea buys muffins from the bakery downstairs.

It’s all a ploy! Don’t fall for his pretty looks and culinary skills. Right. I have to remember he’s shady as hell from his first appearance in my life. If only the club was our first meeting and he didn’t have a tendency to break into my home. Then I wouldn’t have to constantly remind myself not to think about sex.

Because something tells me sex with Julian will change me in ways I’m not prepared to face.

Julian puts the finishing touches on the dishes and spins to confront me with his arms folded. “Do you want to eat or kick my ass first?”

“That’s a tough choice, they’re both so enticing.”

He smirks and collects the plates. “Then I’ll decide for you. Eat so you’ll have the energy to come at me.” He passes me to finish setting the table. He doesn’t utter a complaint while I watch without volunteering to assist him. “Okay, Keeper, let’s eat.”

I shut my eyes and massage my forehead at the mild throbbing that begins. Something in my mind is fighting its way to the surface, but a dense fog surrounds a memory prompted by Julian calling me Keeper. This reaction isn’t as painful as when we were in London, but I’m certain now that the name isn’t casual. When the murkiness deepens, I give up trying to unveil what my mind is protecting me from.

As a child, before I gave up on remembering anything prior to my accident, the doctors advised me not to force myself to remember. To let it come naturally. At the time, I was young and scared and didn’t listen. As a result, I blacked out and recalled nothing. Although frustrating, I plan to heed the advice now.

At the table, I sit at my usual spot and reach under in search of the dagger I keep there.

“Don’t waste your time. It’s not there.” Julian slides the weapon toward me.

Heat flushes through my system. And not the welcome kind. I should be mad at him for predicting my movements, and maybe there is a part of me that is, but she’s a mere whisper under the roar of desire.

I clear my throat and take the dagger. “Why would you hand this to me? Don’t you know I have an accurate aim?”

A wistful smile plays across Julian’s lips and his eyes cloud as if replaying a beloved memory. “You might find this hard to believe but I’ve worked hard to be able to dodge or catch deadly projectiles. My first mentor made certain I should know how to protect myself.”

“You’re too trusting. I could kill you right now.”

“Before breakfast?” At my serious expression, Julian clears his throat. “I can’t die yet. There’s still too much you don’t know, so why don’t we have a pleasant morning together before we discuss the heavy stuff?”

In response, I hurl the dagger toward him. He catches it, spins from the momentum of my throw, and flings it where it sinks into the wall with a loud thud.

Julian retrieves it and hands it back to me, handle first, as if defying the danger of holding a naked blade in his hand. “Want to keep testing me?”

I shake my head as I take the proffered weapon. How does he know I didn’t intend to kill him with that throw? How does he know so much about me? I need answers, but—my stomach growls—first I need food.

I ignore the ghostly smirk on Julians face and set out to devour my breakfast, barely able to contain my moans of pleasure. Last night’s dinner wasn’t a fluke. Julian knows his way around food. Maybe I can convince him to deliver without having to be around. But doing so requires me to leave him alive and physically able. Hmm.

I glance up to see him watching me with an expression I can’t place. “Why are you staring at me like that?”

“Like what?”

I shrug, struggling to find the right words. “I don’t know, but it makes me feel…”

He quirks up. “What do I make you feel?”

For countless seconds, I have no answer I’m willing to share or that makes sense. There’s no explanation for the way my body reacts to being close to him or the fullness in my heart at his stare.

I place my silverware beside my plate and say, “Why are you here?”

“Are we doing this now?” His face transforms. The humor I’ve seen in his response too many times leaves his expression for something more serious.

“Yes, I think we should. No more weapons this time.” I glance at his quirked eyebrow. “But I reserve the option if I don’t like what you have to say.”

“Of course.” Julian nods and clears our plates from the table before leading me to the living room.

He sits in front of me, holding my hands. Comforting warmth seeps from his firm grip, and I don’t have the will to take them from him. The silence builds my anticipation. Is this when he drops a bombshell on me, exposing his manipulations to get me to soften up to him for an end goal I can’t think of right now?

“I’m here to keep a promise,” he says.

His response is so far from what I expect, that it takes me a while to follow up with a question of my own.

“Who did you make this promise to?”

Julian eyes me, his pause causing me to tense the longer he leaves my question unanswered. “I don’t think you’re ready for the answer to that yet. But know the person I’m beholden to wants you to achieve everything you desire. I’m here to eliminate obstacles and ensure your happiness.”

I pull my hands from his and stand to tower over him. “You don’t get to determine what I’m ready to hear.”

“I agree. It’s not my call.”

“Then it’s mine and I want to know who is pulling your strings.”

He tilts his head to the side while studying me. His eyes go to the scar on my face. “How’d you come by the scar?”

I touch the raised tissue on my cheek. Although judgment and disgust aren’t evident in his voice, the reminder that my face isn’t perfect throws me into a vulnerable place. Considering I’ve never known my face to not have the disfigurement, I shouldn’t have a reaction when someone points it out.

Julian gently pushes me onto the seat facing him and takes my hands again. “If you aren’t ready to tell me, that’s okay.”

“What does my scar have to do with the person behind you?”

“It’s not the scar per se, it’s what I suspect occurred from the incident. Do you have any memory of a time before you were wounded?”

“What if I don’t?”

“That’s why you’re not prepared for everything I want to tell you. And believe me, I have so many things to share, but I won’t. Not yet.”

I touch my cheek again. “The reason you won’t leave me alone is because you knew me before my accident? How?”

His eyes warm as he stares at my face. “Not one day has gone by that I don’t remember you. The truth is, I’ll forget my name, my face, every identity I’ve ever created, and my very essence before I fail to recognize you.”