Page 34 of What a Wolf Demands

“I didn’t.”

“Then—”

“I told them to bring all the sizes.”

Now she gasped, her hand clenching the robe tighter. She glanced around the room as if she expected to see mountains of clothing toppling over. “How much did that cost?”

“The clothes aren’t here yet. They said it might take a bit.”

She swung her gaze back to his. “Well, yeah, if you ordered half the store. Will they take the extras back?”

Probably not. But it didn’t matter. “I’m not worried about it.” He pulled out a chair and gestured for her to sit. “They definitely won’t take the food back, though, so we should eat.”

She looked like she wanted to argue, but then she shook herself and walked over. She stopped beside the chair he proffered, her expression hesitant. “Thanks.”

As far as a “get lost” went, it was polite. But it was obvious she didn’t want his help. He gave a short nod and went back to his seat where he shook out a cloth napkin and placed it over his lap.

She sank into her chair, at last releasing her death grip on the robe. She unfolded her own napkin, her movements slow—almost cautious. She put her hands in her lap and canted her gaze down, as if waiting for him to give her permission to eat.

He had to bite his tongue to stop from asking if she was okay. Her demeanor was altogether different from before. The woman who’d smashed her fist into his jaw was gone, replaced with this quiet, passive female.

And, damn, but he wasn’t sure he liked it.

He uncovered the dishes one by one, revealing chicken, roast beef, vegetables, dinner rolls, and half a dozen sides. The food was arranged family style, with big serving spoons tucked in the side of every bowl and platter.

Lily’s eyes widened, and she murmured, “Did you order the whole menu, too?”

“I wasn’t sure what you liked.” There hadn’t been an opportunity to ask. She’d bolted to the bathroom like she’d seen a ghost.

Right after he’d lifted a hand toward her. A scowl formed in his mind. Polite detachment.

He gestured to the food. “Help yourself.”

She gazed at the table for a moment, then gave a small shrug and reached for a dinner roll.

“Watch your sleeve,” he murmured. The fabric dangled dangerously close to a serving boat filled with marinara sauce.

She gasped and jerked her hand back, a blush stealing over her cheeks.

In the oversized robe, with her hair loose over her shoulders, she was both alluring and vulnerable. And achingly young, he realized with a jolt. At thirty-one, he’d never really considered himself old before. And the eight years between them wasn’t such a wide gap, but lifestyle and experience made it broader. She’d spent her whole life in Bon Rêve.

He’d spent half a decade crisscrossing the country, systematically hunting down fugitives and disposing of dead bodies.

She cleared her throat, drawing his attention.

Shit. He’d zoned out. The wariness had returned to her gaze, and she was clenching the robe to her throat again.

Afraid of me. And why wouldn’t she be? He held all the power. She wasn’t in shackles, but she was a prisoner all the same. This morning, she’d been living on her own. Now, she depended on him for everything—including the food in her belly and the clothes on her back.

Or lack of them, as it were.

Not going to think about that.

“Here, let me,” he said, his voice gruffer than he’d intended. He snagged her plate and heaped it with generous portions of chicken, mashed potatoes, and other sides. The serving spoons clinked against the porcelain bowls as he worked, giving her a little bit of everything. When the plate couldn’t hold anymore, he looked at her. “Gravy?”

“Um, yes, please. Just a little.”

He drizzled a spoonful over the potatoes, then added half a spoonful more. Gravy seeped over the mound of potatoes and nudged against a piece of chicken. Damn, she said a little. Moving fast, he swapped the gravy spoon for potatoes and added to the small mountain on the edge of her plate.

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