It made me consider the fact that a lot of guys could use that as a tool to glean information from their women in order to know how to act in a relationship. And not gonna flex the macho card; it felt good to hear the things she said, to see the look on her face as she said those things. To see her wearing my robe. She’s into this in a big way and I am, too. It’s nice to know what page she’s on instead of wondering if shit is on the up and up. It makes me wish I’d put other women I’d dated under surveillance. It could’ve helped me waste less time on a fair few of them.
Then again, if I followed my grandmother’s philosophy, she told me every failed relationship was a lesson in what you didn’t want. If you can learn from it, it’s not a total waste.
And the way Violet has me feeling, I’m thinking I can take those cameras out.
She’s trustworthy.
Though, there is the security element to this that puts my mind at ease. Maybe I’ll leave the cameras in for the time being.
51
Violet
The beeping of Killian’s security system grabs my attention.
He’s got a frown as he approaches me at the kitchen counter. I’m chopping red onion.
“Hi!” I flash a smile.
His frown melts and then his mouth is on mine and my face is in his hands. The kiss, like all Killian’s kisses I’m learning, is hungry. I drop the knife on the cutting board and then I’m clutching his shirt as he lifts me up and puts my butt onto the opposite counter.
“Keep that alarm armed when you’re home, baby, especially if I’m not here,” he says against my lips.
“Oh. Woops. I forgot,” I say against his mouth. “Sorry if I taste bad. I’ve been sampling the toppings.”
“You taste great,” he tells me and kisses me again.
“I ate some raw onion by mistake,” I tell him, crinkling my nose. ”It was hiding under an orange pepper.”
“Don’t care,” he kisses me again and then backs up, takes a piece of onion and then pops it into his mouth. “There. Now I taste like onions, too.” He kisses me again and I giggle as he lifts me off the counter and stands me on my feet.
“You didn’t turn the oven on?” he asks, staring at the dark oven.
My belly drops and I cover my mouth. “Oh damn. I forgot.”
My heart is suddenly stampeding in my chest. He messaged me and asked me to turn it on to five hundred at a specific time, saying the oven needed to preheat for an hour with the pizza stone in it. I got sidetracked chopping toppings and completely forgot.
He turns the oven to five hundred degrees, opens a drawer and lifts out the large tile he told me about and slides it into the oven. He turns his back to the oven and surveys all the ingredients I’ve got out in piles on the wooden cutting board.
“Did I buy enough cheese?” I ask, feeling my heart slow down. Ray would’ve flipped if I’d screwed dinner up by an hour. Totally flipped. Killian doesn’t seem to care that much.
My body is in flight mode. I try to will my heart to slow down.
He flexes his jaw and looks at the large bag of shredded pizza mozzarella. “Okay, I shoulda said… don’t buy pre-grated cheese for pizza. It has to be grated just before we use it.”
My heart drops again.
“Whatever,” he waves his hand. “This won’t be my best work. Just know that.”
I chuckle nervously. “Oh. Oh-k-kay.”
“No. For real, Violet. My old boss, Mr. V would’ve skinned me alive if he caught me taking this shortcut.”
My shoulders relax. “It’s a time saver. And cheese graters are a manicure killer,” I advise.
He snickers. “Guess I’m the cheese grater in this relationship, then. I can deal with that.” He shrugs.
My heart flares. Relationship. I’m in a relationship with Killian Coulter. It’s gonna take a while to get used to this reality, as is getting accustomed to not feeling like I’m on alert all the time.
How long until I react like a normal person again?
“I gotta get the sauce together.” He throws his suit jacket to the couch and then he’s back, rolling his sleeves.
“What the fuck is that?” he asks.
I manage to follow his eyes despite that I think my heart has stopped. “What?”
What did I do now to screw up this dinner?
He turns the tap on and soaps up his hands.
“Pineapple?” He looks at the chopped fresh pineapple in the pile beside the diced peppers.
“Yeah,” I smile, thinking here we go. People either love pineapple on pizza or find the thought abhorrent. It’s never really in the middle, from my experience. And I love it.
He shakes his head. “Fuck. And here I thought you were perfect. Fruit doesn’t go on pizza, baby.”
I gasp in mock horror and then pop a chunk in my mouth. “Mm.”
I then hold a piece out and offer it to him. He winks and accepts it by playfully biting my finger as he takes it.
“See? It’s good.”
“Good on its own, good in a fruit salad or an upside-down cake, but not on a fuckin’ pizza.”
“Fine. Just put it on half,” I offer with a shrug.
He makes a face of distaste and then pulls out a pot and opens the jar of strained San Marzano tomatoes I picked up.
“And technically…” I inform, “Bell peppers are a fruit and so are tomatoes, so your fruit argument does not hold water.”
The left side of his mouth goes up and he gives me a shake of his head. “Pour us some wine, baby?” He lifts a knife and runs it through a pile of fresh herbs on the chopping board.
“Of course. How was your day?” I ask, wandering over to the wall of wine.
“Couldn’t stop thinking about how much I wanted to be here with you,” he tells me, reaching into the fridge for the tube of minced garlic.
I bite my lip and smile, feeling shy all of a sudden.
“Your mail will be here tomorrow. And all your photo albums,” he adds, casually. “He’s been arrested.”
I nearly drop the bottle of wine in my hand. “What?”
“He fleeced the old lady in your building for that money. That was the biggest chunk of my day... dealing with that.”
I jolt in surprise.
“He told the cops she gave it to him as a gift, but we’ll see what happens. She thinks he’s her son who died fifteen years ago. She came out while he was being arrested and the cops saw themselves what her state of mind is with him. Obviously, he took advantage of that. He’s in jail right now at least.”
Wow. I’m shocked.
I knew there was no way he came by that money in a way that was honest, but poor Mrs. Shear.
“Cleaned all but seven hundred bucks out of her account. What he owed me and five g’s besides.”
“Poor Mrs. Shear.”
“She’ll get her money back,” he says.
“How?” I ask.
He gives me a look. “You think I’m gonna keep that money he stole from her? You don’t think much of me, Violet?”
“No, not… no. Ray owed you that money,” I say.
“I don’t want it when he stole it from an old lady with dementia, Violet. I can stand to lose it a fuckuva lot easier than she can.”