Page 133 of Corrupted Heart

She shudders in my arms. I shove aside my rage as I hold her tight, wrapping my arms around her as she cries softly into my chest.

She doesn’t need my rage and vengeance right now. She just needs this.

Vengeance can, and will, come later.

“Ever since then, I can’t do water over my head,” she says in a brittle voice. She laughs coldly. “And I used to love swimming. I was even on the dive team, and I was good. Now?” Her lips twist. “You should see my bathing routine, it’s fucking pathetic. I mean, I wash my hair bending over the bath?—”

“It’s not pathetic,” I growl, taking her hand in mine. “It’s survival. It’s how we keep it together and cover the scars. Don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise.”

Our eyes lock in the darkness. My fingers tangle in her hair, pulling her lips to mine.

I was wrong.

There’s nothing breakable about her at all.

25

BIANCA

Something amazing filters into my nose as I come downstairs after my bath. The clatter of metal against utensils, mixed with James Brown and the hiss of sautéing, drifts from the kitchen as I head down the hall. When I step in, my brows shoot up.

Woah.

Kratos mentioned this morning that he wanted to cook dinner for me.

“What, like a DATE?” dorky-ass me teased.

“Exactly,” he’d murmured back.

Then he bent me over the bathroom vanity, spanked my ass until it was hot and sizzling, and fucked me hard, making me watch myself come in the mirror in front of us.

So, yeah. Somewhere in there, I didn’t connect that “making us dinner tonight” really meant “cooking up a storm in the kitchen.”

I stand in the doorway, feeling a little heat tease over my skin as I eye him.

Shit.

Some men make dressing up look hot as hell, Kratos included. Other guys look super sexy in workout clothes or playing sports.

Also Kratos included.

But I’m not sure I’ve ever really taken a second to watch a man cook or move around the kitchen with surgical precision. And now I’m wishing I had before. Because holy wow.

It’s hot as fuck.

He’s in black jeans and a white t-shirt, a small towel slung over his shoulder and a chef’s apron tied around his waist, slung low on his hips. Behind him, various pans sizzle. The knife in his hand is a blur as he dices something with vicious efficiency on the kitchen island. And another hot little tingle teases through my core as I watch the blade glint and slice.

It probably shouldn’t be this sexy to watch a man wielding a lethal blade. But maybe it’s that I’ve got first-hand knowledge of other ways he’s good at using a knife.

He pauses, his eyes snapping to mine like he’s just realized I’m standing there. His gaze drags over me, and I shiver as the hungry glint ripples through them.

Okay, so, maybe that look is exactly the reason I chose this dress—a short, flirty, Latin-inspired thing, in black. The halter neck ties at the back, the hem is cut on a sharp angle, slicing diagonally up from mid-calf on one side almost all the way to my hip on the other. I don’t need a bra under it. Coupled with the heels, I already feel hot.

But when he looks at me like he wants to devour me like this, I feel downright scorching.

“You like?” I grin, twirling a little.

Kratos says nothing. But his jaw grinds, his eyes flashing pure lust as he drinks me in.

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