Page 27 of House of Lies

My stomach gurgles in response, urging me to investigate.

The mouth-watering smell of baked pastry and cinnamon gets stronger as I head for the kitchen. Night fell about an hour ago, but the big lights aren’t on. Instead, a candlestick with three candles wash the white marble island with a warm orange glow.

The sight of Ethan Remington eating apple pie by candlelight is so incongruous that I’m wondering if I slipped and hit my head.

My stomach rumbles loudly.

“Sit.” He doesn’t lift his head from the plate where he’s devoured half a slice of apple pie and most of the enormous mound of whipped cream beside it.

As good as it smells, the last thing I want to do is break bread with this man. He’s the enemy, at least until I’ve proven otherwise.

“I’m fine, thanks.”

Ethan studies me with narrowed steel-gray eyes. “You’ve eaten nothing all day.”

“I’m not hungry.”

He straightens, pushing away his plate before crossing his arms over his chest. The position makes his biceps bulge against the fabric. Does he work out?

“Do you think I’d poison you?” he rumbles, his jaw clenching with irritation.

My cheeks heat. Way to go, Cassidy.

I manage a meek, “Of course not, Sir.”

My submission seems to anger him even more, but I guess I can’t blame him for being irritated by my constant hot-and-cold attitude toward him. I can’t help it. It’s fucking confusing being around him, my body coming alive while my mind protests.

His chair scrapes back as he gets to his feet. He keeps his eyes locked on mine while he drags another kitchen stool closer and gestures with a flick of his wrist.

“Sit.”

My ass is in the chair before I can second guess myself.

“Hm.” Ethan’s murmur might have come across as approval…if his eyes weren’t still shadowed with annoyance.

I study the devastation he wrecked as he goes to fetch another plate. Less than half the pie is left, crumbs scattered over the countertop. There’s even a stray dollop of whipped cream that reminds me of an iceberg.

He comes back, sets down the empty plate in front of me, and cuts the remaining pie in half.

“Cream?”

I shake my head.

“Not even in your coffee?”

“Coffee? This late at night?”

“It’s decaf.”

I give him another shake of my head.

He lets out a displeased rumble. As if it’s any business of his what the hell I eat or whether I want coffee. Hilarious that I thought this man had an ounce of civility inside him. I’ve never met a control freak as… well, as controlling as him before.

I snatch the fork from his hand with ill grace and stab off a piece of pie before shoving it into my mouth. Best I get this over as quickly as possible.

Despite my sour thoughts, I can’t help a little “Mmm…” of pleasure rippling up my throat when the pie hits my tastebuds.

Ethan points at my plate with a fork. “Savor it…It’s the last one.”

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