I grab a pillow and prop up her foot, placing an ice pack over the swelling. She presses her eyes shut again, obviously in pain. But she’s fighting hard not to show it.
She’s scared; she should be. She strikes me as too intelligent not to be scared.
I pull the cashmere throw from the back of the couch and hand it to her. If she were a different person, I’d tuck her in. That’s not going to get me where I need to go with Sasha, though.
She takes it wordlessly and wraps it around her like some kind of shield.
“So, anyone missing you tonight? Boyfriend maybe?”
Her hazel eyes appear rimmed with gold in the fire light. She’s thinking about lying. I can tell. Instead, she sighs. “No. Haven’t had much time for dating between work and the constant physical therapy.”
She cuts her eyes to me to see if she strikes a nerve with the PT comment, but I don’t react and she continues. “I’m sure my father’s drunk off his ass already and my little brother stays with his friend after swim practice Friday nights. It’s why no one noticed I wasn’t home last time I met your friend P.J.”
Oh shit. P.J. was there too? I confirmed with Hamish that he’d been involved in her kidnapping, but I’d assumed he’d handled it himself. They needed two big men to subdue this small woman? A ripple of guilt passes through me, but I push it aside and hold Sasha’s gaze.
The fire in her voice doesn’t match the fear in her eyes.
“He’s not my friend,” I say coolly. “He’s my father’s business associate.”
“Business associate. Right. Does it feel better to couch it in such sterile language, Finn?”
She is bright.
“Yes,” I say. “It does. Frankly I don’t like to think of someone beating a woman half to death.”
That much is very true.
“How nice for you.” Her voice has a dreamy quality, like she’s drifting off in her mind to somewhere safe. Somewhere I can’t reach her. I’m losing control here.
“I’m going to make dinner. Any allergies?”
“Sadly, no. Nothing easy to take me out with.”
I stifle a laugh. “A shame. It’d save us all a lot of trouble.”
She stares daggers into me, which is more of a turn-on than I’d like to admit. But she needs to understand what’s happening here and how much she has to lose.
It’ll be easier if she just cooperates.
But more fun if she doesn’t.
Since I knew I’d have a guest tonight, I picked up an assortment of food. Moving to the kitchen, I pull out some oysters and scallops. I’ll pan roast them and make one of my favorite recipes—a seafood soup that’s easy to make but tastes like I’ve spent hours preparing.
It never fails to get those panties to drop.
I toss some bacon into my Le Creuset pot, and once the meat is soft, I add some celery and onion. Fish stock and, importantly, oyster liquor, my secret ingredient, make the base of the soup. After I blend in the spices, I leave it to boil as I sear the scallops. Once the liquid boils, I back off on the heat, let it simmer for a while, and then it’s time for the oysters, some Worcestershire sauce, and finally, the delicately seared scallops. It smells amazing, and I peer out into the living room to see if Sasha is interested.
She’s asleep.
Of course.
I pull the baguette toasts out of the oven and set the food up on my antique dining room table.
The soup is best hot, so I gently shake Sasha’s shoulder.
She shrieks. Christ.
“I didn’t mean to scare you. I thought you might be hungry.”
Her eyes are wild with fear. It takes a minute for her breathing to calm.
Next time I see her breath feverish and coming in pants, I want it to be from desire. Until we get there, though, I’ll have to be more cautious.
I help her up, and she opens her pretty mouth as if to protest, but I ignore her and sling my arm low on her waist, helping her to the table. I pull out her chair, enjoying how annoyed she is at the theater of it all. Once she’s settled, I pour us some wine. Her eyes narrow just the slightest bit, but she takes the glass when I offer it to her.
“How did you get into union organizing?”
“Mostly for the opportunity it gives me to meet all sorts of interesting people.” She throws it down like a gauntlet and takes a sip of her wine.
“I understand why you’re defensive, but I’m just trying to understand you better so we can figure out where to go next.”
The soup is perfect.
She exhales sharply. “My mother died when I was in college. She had type one diabetes, and her job cut her hours so they wouldn’t have to provide health benefits. Insulin isn’t cheap and she rationed it so we could pay the bills. When she died, I had to drop out of college to take care of my little brother. I’d been working in the cafeteria part-time, and the non-student employees were SWU 105. They connected me with the union office. I eventually took a job with them.”
“I’m sorry that happened.”
If it hadn’t, a smart, pretty girl like Sasha would’ve been able to finish college and find a more suitable path.
“Yeah, me too.”
“How much younger is your brother? I’ve got three brothers and three sisters. All younger except one.”
She swirls her spoon in the soup for a minute and then takes a bite. “You’re a good cook. Ever think of doing it professionally?”
“No. Making it a job would take the joy out of it. My father wanted me to be a politician.”
“That’d be handy for him, wouldn’t it?”
“You can imagine his disappointment when I decided not to pursue that particular path.”
She eats more of the soup and then puts the spoon down, propping her chin up on her hand. “What did you want, then? Not that harassing people who intrude on your shady business dealings isn’t fulfilling and all, but it can’t be what you dreamed of doing when you were a kid.”
I top off our wine glasses.
“Not a lot of room for dreaming in my childhood,” I say, gesturing with the glass. “I just knew I didn’t want to be a politician.”
It’s a balance to give her enough to be disarmed and share her secrets, but not enough to think she knows me in any discernable way.
“Hmm.” Her cheeks are a little flushed from the wine now. It looks good on her. She hasn’t eaten much. Normally I’d be offended, but she’ll get tipsy much faster this way.
“My brother’s a senior in high school. Nine years younger. My mom wasn’t supposed to be able to have kids at all because of her condition, let alone a second one after the complications from her pregnancy with me. He’s a brilliant pain in the ass. Going to school for engineering in the fall, hopefully.”
“MIT bound?”
She stiffens for a minute. “No. Stanford or Cal Tech, we hope.”
“Far from home, but I’m guessing that’s the point?”
“My father’s a loser, Finn. Is this what you’re waiting to hear? He was a big-shot hockey player when he was young, but he blew all his money. He got injured and didn’t bother finding more work and lived off my mother and grandmother, and now that they’re both gone, he lives off me. He’s a shit-ass drunk and I’ll be damned if I let my brother end up like him. I promised my mother I’d get him out, and I never break my promises.”