Page 27 of Caught in His Sights

I stuff the cooking spray into the cupboard within reach and grab the new box of butter. “It burns at a lower temperature and causes a residue build-up.”

He cracks eggs into the bowl. “Isn’t that called seasoning the pan?”

Horrified, I turn from lighting the gas burner to stare at him. “No. Where did you learn to cook?”

“The internet.” He shrugs. “We have staff at the estate who prepare meals.”

I shake my head and pull out some veggies for omelets. “Of course, you do.”

“Is six enough?” When I nod and hand him the whisk I found in the island drawer, he gets to mixing. “Who taught you how to cook?”

“My papa, mostly. Every Sunday, he’d make a special breakfast.” A sad smile plays on my lips as I chop. “I tried to keep it going when I moved back to take care of Dylan, but when he got his own place, it was too much work for just one person. It felt pointless.”

“We never did Sunday brunches.”

Surprise shoots through me. “No? But your family is so big and close-knit.”

“Big families mean lots of chaos, and something was always going on. When we were home from boarding school, meals were open buffets, and people grabbed food when they had a second to spare.” He peers into the egg bowl, decides they’re whipped enough, and pushes it over to me. “We always sat down for holidays, though. Noisy dinners with everyone talking at once.”

“Sounds nice.” I add the butter to the pan, then the veggies to sauté them. “My parents wanted a large family, but after me, it took a while before Dylan was conceived, and the pregnancy was hard on my papa, so my father said no more. He was so worried about losing Papa. No one ever considered he might go first.”

The food blurs in front of my stinging eyes, and I shake my head, trying to swallow down the emotion.

Caleb’s warm body presses up behind me. “You’ve never let yourself grieve, have you?”

“There was no time.” A tear rolls down my cheek, and I swipe it away before it drops into the skillet. “Papa was in so much pain that someone needed to be strong, and then when he passed, I had Dylan to look after.”

Another tear escapes, and I search for the paper towels only to find gleaming, empty countertops. I lift the collar of my shirt to wipe my face.

Caleb remains quiet, offering his warmth as comfort if not his words.

The tears fall faster, and I turn off the burner so I don’t ruin the veggies. “Why do you even care?”

“I’ve killed many people in my life, most of them bad, all of them wanting to live. But you, Oliver… You were already dead. Your body just hadn’t finished shutting down yet.” He bends, his nose finding the sensitive spot behind my ear, and he breathes in deep. “Killing is easy, but I’ve never brought a person back to life.”

A shiver goes through me. “That makes no sense.”

“Neither does obsessing over celebrities, but here we are.” He scoots me out of the way and turns the stove back on. “Go put on some pants while I finish breakfast.”

Grateful for a reprieve from the heavy emotions in the air, I limp toward the stairs. “If you burn it, I’m ordering the most expensive delivery I can find.”

“Then I hope you enjoy goose egg Benedict topped with beluga caviar and gold flake,” he calls after me.

I limp back into the kitchen. “Goose egg?”

He nods. “Only available in the spring, so it’s a seasonal dish.”

“And here I thought I was being bougie with the free-range eggs.” I glare at the carton, which now feels less fancy.

“We can order it tomorrow.” Caleb stabs at the pan like he’s trying to murder the veggies. “The restaurant needs advanced notice.”

“Sure, suggest something that can’t be delivered right now,” I grumble, though there’s no real heat behind it, since I’ll probably dislike goose eggs as much as I do chicken.

“Dress. Now.”

I limp back out of the kitchen and up the stairs, pulling on the pants I abandoned on the landing. Then, unable to resist the temptation, I walk into Caleb’s room and flip on the light.

A soft, golden glow comes from a pair of bedside lamps that bracket a king-sized mattress, the frame heavy and made of wrought iron. Caleb’s threat to tie me to his headboard flashes through my memory, and I swallow hard as feverish desire rushes through me.

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