Ethan drops his arms.
“Who said you could touch my things?”
“I wasn’t touching your thing,” he mutters, innuendo in his tone.
“Not my thing-thing,” I scold. “My things with an -s. Like my kayak.” I wave a hand toward the window. “You stay away from my things.” A finger points at him, and for further emphasis, I poke at his firm chest.
Ow. That actually hurt me. He’s so…hard.
He chuckles, and I look up at him. He’s still too close to me.
“Don’t you worry. I have no interest in touching your thing,” he mocks, crossing his arms, which makes his chest flex. His bare nipples stand erect, pink and teasing. I could bite him there. Suddenly, I want to bite him, and then lick him, and then suck at the tiny nub.
I don’t even understand myself.
“In fact,” he interrupts my wayward thoughts. “I want to apologize for what I said earlier. It was inappropriate and uncalled for, and I…I shouldn’t have said it.” He blows out a breath and digs his fingers into his hair, holding it back at the top of his head. His arm is clearly on display. With his bicep front and center, I notice the Celtic band tattooed around his arm and words inscribed along his side. I tilt my head, but he’s quick to lower his arm and cover the inscription.
My eyes leap up to his, and we return to glaring at one another until the swing door of the kitchen creaks open.
“What’s going on?” Jacob asks. Ethan steps back from me. Something crunches under his foot, and he closes his eyes. “What’s this mess?”
Ethan’s eyes snap open and catch mine. I dare him to tell Jacob the truth, but then I panic. I was using a knife to stab innocent cookies.
Oh, my God. What was I doing?
“I was crushing up these cookies,” Ethan begins, holding my gaze. “Thought I’d try something different for dessert like mixing them with ice cream later.”
I…I don’t know what to say, but oxygen escapes me in relief. He covered for me. He covered my crazy outburst.
“Oh…well, that sounds delicious. Hey, do you mind making me a sandwich or something? I’m starving.”
“Yeah, starving,” Ethan says under his breath, eyes still fixed on mine. “I’ll get on that… boss.” Ethan’s tone teases as he breaks away from me and nods at Jacob.
“Mind bringing it to my office?” Jacob asks. Ethan nods. I don’t turn for my brother, and he steps back through the swinging door, the hinges signaling his departure.
I should thank Ethan for covering for me, but then he speaks. “You owe me.”
“I do not,” I snap, when only seconds ago I was ready to give him my gratitude.
“Yes, you do. First, the breakfast you tossed and now these cookies. Here’s a tip to getting along with me, princess. I don’t waste food. Children are starving in this country, and I don’t say that lightly. Seeing as you probably know nothing about hunger…” He pauses, and his eyes roam my body.
“Who says I want to get along with you? And are you saying I’m fat?” I interject on his speech.
His brows hitch. “As I already think you’re insane, I’m going to ignore that question. You’re privileged, and you lack for nothing—food, clothing, shelter—which means you cannot disregard what you have, you appreciate it. And that includes you don’t waste food I prepare. Don’t want it? Don’t eat it. But don’t toss it in the trash, and for God’s sake, when you’re mad at me, don’t take it out on the cookies.”
The statement is almost comical. We both might laugh at the situation if he wasn’t the one suddenly vibrating with anger. My anger-induced heart rate has settled, and I suddenly feel a bit schooled. He isn’t wrong. I’m aware of hungry children. How I know a thing or two about hunger might surprise him, but it’s not from lack of food.
I glance at the mess.
“I’ll clean this up,” I say. I am contrite, but I won’t apologize to him.
“This is my kitchen now,” he states. His voice turning glacial. “So, I’d prefer if you just get out. You’ve done enough damage today. Dinner will be served at six, your highness. If I don’t see your fine ass, I’ll assume you aren’t eating, and I’ll expect you’ll find the leftovers where I leave them.”
Fine ass? The words echo through my head. Does he like my body? It’s a shallow thought and one I can’t consider when he turns his large body after his grand statement, forcing me to take a step back. He steps to the sink to wash his hands and then opens a drawer where we keep the plastic wear. Then piece by piece, he collects the crumbs on the counter, and I watch as if he’s capable of magic. Maybe he can put those cookies back together again.
Is it possible for anyone to repair something so fragile, so broken? My eyes flit to his shoulder, outlining his profile once more. The strength of his arms. The scent of his skin. The beat of his heart. It’s as if I still feel him holding me, breathing with me, calming me. I can’t understand why his presence calmed me. Maybe, it’s that I haven’t known physical touch in years. Maybe, it’s because he forced his way into my space. Maybe, it’s time to let someone in.
Is it possible he could mend me?
Card 7: English Sausage
Salt preserves
[Ethan]
“Ella, time for dinner,” Jacob hollers up the staircase off the kitchen.
I plate the pasta dish I prepared from a family recipe I know by heart. This is comfort food, and I need it. I wasn’t going to survive twenty-four hours in this house with that woman. She was crazy. Certifiably nuts.
“Isabella Vincentia, you will join us for dinner,” Jacob cries out again as he steps into the stairwell leading up to her room. “This is not a request. Hunger strikes will not happen here.”
When Jacob returns without Ella, I tell him to take a seat at the dining table. I follow, carrying a plate for him and one for me. A glass of something dark and dangerous sits in a low tumbler on the table near his spot. I could use a stiff drink myself, but I pass when he offers me one. Can’t get drunk on my first official night here. I’ll save it for if I last through a second one.
“Do hunger strikes happen often?” I question, taking a seat while Jacob sits at the head of his table. “My sister used to pull them, too.”
“If you want to know something about me, you should ask me, not him.” The roughness of her tone turns both our heads, but my mouth falls open without a response.
Holy shit. She actually dressed for dinner in a dress, a freaking short dress in light blue which makes her eyes pop and shows off her bare legs in all their creamy length.
“You have a sister?” Jacob asks. I nod as I stand, my heart hammering in my chest.
“Karyn. She’s older than me, and my mum always said she isn’t gonna starve when my sister had her tantrums as a teen and refused to eat dinner.” I level my glare at Ella who holds her head high. “Take a seat. I’ll get you a plate.”
Stepping into the kitchen, I need a minute. My chest heaves as I exhale. She’s such a juxtaposition between that scar and the rest of her…hot damn. Her dress hugs the small swell of her breasts and outlines her hips. She doesn’t have luscious curves, but I’d still like to get my hands on her.