The bride had worn green for the wedding, a rumpled dress made of emerald silk. Her hair had been loose, thick brown waves cascading over her gleaming shoulders. Her gaze had been downcast for much of the ceremony, her responses to the justice quiet but sure. When Hardeep had kissed her, it had been a quick, dry peck on her upturned cheek.
Jas had met her eyes only for a brief moment during the ceremony, when he’d signed as witness, and something about her stark vulnerability had cracked through his suspicion.
He hadn’t fallen in love with her right then and there. His love had come later, as he trailed along behind her, protected her, discovered her quirks and quick wit. It was her small acts of kindness that had sucked him in, her clever intelligence and sweetness that had kept him hooked. She flowered open daily to receive and give affection and care to everyone in her orbit. She fascinated him. He had always dated sporadically, but his interest in other women had dwindled to zero over the past few years.
He asked me to go on a date with him.
Jas closed his eyes and counted to ten. You’re upset about this because you want to focus on something other than McGuire.
Bullshit.
You could tell her you love her.
No, he absolutely could not. His pining for her was his own concern. As was his intense jealousy of Mr. ToothyGrin.
He’d learned how to control his emotions at an early age, before he’d even entered the regimented world of the United States military. His grandfather wouldn’t have allowed anything else. Calm control was essential on a farm, where humans were often at the whim of animals, the weather, the land.
He knew how to strangle his feelings down deep, so deep he barely thought about the blood-and-horror-soaked event that had ended his career, or the backlash that came after from people he’d respected and sworn vows to, or how difficult it had been to readjust to civilian life. So difficult Jas had taken a position as a bodyguard for a man his grandfather had disdained, crossed continents to be away from all the reminders of what his life was not.
So he wasn’t about to go spilling his feelings all over Katrina. He shuddered. Imagine if she pitied him, or worse, was horrified. At the very least, their working relationship would never be the same. Then he’d be deprived of even the crumbs.
His watch beeped, reminding him that breakfast would arrive soon. The world was often unreliable, but Katrina was not. Another thing he craved about her, that tight, perfectly predictable schedule. It was like a soothing balm to the part of him that missed his regimented life.
He went inside to get ready for the day. As he stood in the shower, letting the heat permeate his bad knee, he came to terms with the harsh truth.
Katrina hadn’t shown interest in any romantic connection since Hardeep had died. He hadn’t believed that would last forever. He didn’t want it to last forever, if it would make her happier to seek someone out. He’d have to follow her and her prospective date around, watch them fall in love.
What was the other option? Quitting?
He scrubbed his face. Nope.
Chapter Four
KATRINA WAS IN an upbeat mood when she entered her kitchen, purring black-and-white cat in her arms. The sun streamed in through the huge east-facing windows, bouncing off the sparkling stainless steel appliances.
Morning people had once annoyed her, until she’d become one. She woke around five A.M. now and got so much done before the rest of the household started to stir. There might be some variation in her schedule during the day, but she preferred her start and end to stay the same. Routine comforted her.
She placed Zeus on the kitchen tile and gave her a good rub. The feline twined around her ankles as she filled her water bowl with clean, distilled water and served the food she made specially for her. “Spoiled,” she cooed at her love, and stroked the black spot on Zeus’s forehead.
Once her baby was taken care of, Katrina grabbed her wireless headphones and placed them over her ears. “Sienna, play Prince’s Love Symbol,” she said aloud, and the black cylinder on the counter lit up red. Her hips swayed as the music poured through the headphones. She danced her way to the counter where her other baby sat. She opened the lid of the glass jar and inhaled the yeasty aroma that greeted her.
Her mom had loved to cook. Katrina retained a couple of memories of key comfort dishes, like tom yum goong and mac and cheese . . . and sourdough bread. Using this exact starter.
It had been the one thing she’d been able to take with her when she’d gone to live with her father, just a few ounces of it. It was a miracle in Katrina’s mind: all you needed was a small amount of the white stuff, and it would grow like magic once it was fed. It had been surprisingly easy to travel with over the years. Katrina added flour and water to the jar in the appropriate quantities, as she did every morning, and placed the starter back in its spot.
It took no time at all to whip up enough waffles for Gerald and Jas. She arranged the heaping plates on a tray with butter and syrup and glanced at her watch. She pulled her headphones off one ear as Gerald silently appeared in the doorway. Her small crew knew how much she hated to be startled or sneaked up on, so they adhered to her strict schedule or stomped loudly when around her. Even Zeus had a bell around her neck.
Her housekeeper was dressed casually, in jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt, with his silver hair combed neatly over his bald spot. He wore a suit every day when Hardeep was alive, but he’d relaxed significantly since her late husband’s death, even going so far as to tell her what foods he preferred for breakfast.
Her queries to Jas about the foods he loved had been met with shrugs and assurances that he liked everything she made. The fact that he always cleaned his plate was her only sign that he was telling the truth.
“Good morning, madam,” Gerald intoned. His British accent was softened from years of living in the U.S. He kept his gaze pointedly on hers, which was standard for him. She wore a robe today in deference to the cooling temperature, but usually she was in short shorts and a tank. One of the small pleasures of pleasing only herself was that she could wear whatever she wanted in her own house. Almost ten years since she’d left life under her father’s thumb, and she was still savoring the taste of freedom.
She liked clothes that revealed some skin, because she loved every inch of the body she’d finally been allowed to care for and nourish how she saw fit. She’d even come to love the faint scar on her face, though she’d received it traumatically. It was hers.
“Good morning, Gerald.” She handed him the tray and he inclined his head.
“Thank you.” A man of few words, he left with his and Jas’s breakfast.
She went on to the next round of meals, cracking eggs, folding them into the batter, and warming the maple syrup. Her mood swung ever upward as the music lifted her and she created a meal for her friends. She found joy in cooking for people who were loudly appreciative of her efforts. Providing sustenance for others was her love language.
Katrina pulled her headphones off when she heard the loud sound of footsteps. Rhiannon. She’d known her best friend and part-time roommate for going on a dozen years. The other woman got her in a way few people did.
Except Jas. He got her real well.
Okay. No more thinking about Jas for the rest of the morning, that’s the rule. It was his day off, so it was her brain’s day off from him, too. “Morning,” she called out to Rhiannon, when her friend entered the kitchen.