Page 88 of Knot the One They Want

And who could blame her?

I make my way to the kitchen, desperate for a drink to dull the ache in my chest. The soft glow of the refrigerator light stops me in my tracks. Evie stands there, bathed in its ethereal glow, a vision in a silky robe that clings to her curves. Her hair is tousled, cheeks flushed with a post-heat glow that makes my mouth go dry. A half-eaten cookie dangles from her lips, milk jug in one hand and a banana in the other.

Our eyes lock. For a heartbeat, neither of us moves.

I can't help the low chuckle that escapes me. "Midnight feast?"

Evie's eyes widen. She slowly removes the cookie from between her lips, a dusting of crumbs falling to the floor. "I... um..."

"Relax," I say, softer than I intend. "It's your house, too."

My words seem to catch her by surprise. She shifts, clearly flustered at being caught. It's... endearing. I've seen Evie poised and professional, furious and passionate.

But this?

This unguarded moment makes her even more alluring.

"Do you want me to make you some actual food?"

Surprise flickers across her face. "Youcook?"

"There's a lot you don't know about me." The words slip out before I can stop them, more honest than I've been in years.

Evie tilts her head, curiosity replacing embarrassment. "I'm starting to see that."

I gesture to the bar stools at the kitchen island. "Sit. I'll whip something up."

She hesitates for a moment, then nods. As she settles onto a stool, I move past her to the fridge, hyper-aware of her presence. Her scent, while no longer the overwhelming force it was earlier, still wraps around me like a caress.

I busy myself gathering ingredients, falling into the familiar rhythm of cooking. It's been too long since I've done this. Running a multi-billion dollar empire doesn't leave much time for hobbies.

"So," Evie says, breaking the comfortable silence. "Where did the great Damien Blackwood learn to cook?"

I crack eggs into a bowl, whisking as I speak. "My grandmother, actually. She believed every Blackwood should know how to fend for themselves, CEO or not."

"Smart woman."

"She was." I pause, memories of summers spent in her sun-drenched kitchen washing over me. "She'd be disappointed in how I've been acting lately."

Evie says nothing, but I feel the weight of her gaze.

I pour the eggs into a hot pan, the sizzle filling the kitchen. "I owe you an apology, Evie. For a lot of things. I haven't really gotten the chance since you've been home."

Home.

That word seems to pierce us both like a dagger, for very different reasons. Me because I realize it's the truth. Thisisher home. Always has been. And I made what should have been her sanctuary—her safe place, the one place in this world she can feel more protected than any other—into a warzone.

"Damien..."

"No, please. Let me say this." I keep my eyes on the pan, unable to face her. "I've been... difficult. No. Cruel. I let my past cloud my judgment, and you paid the price for it. I know it's notenough, and I know it probably doesn't mean anything to you at this point, but… I'm sorry."

The silence stretches between us, broken only by the scrape of the spatula against the pan.

I plate the eggs, sliding them across the counter to Evie. Her fingertips brush mine as she accepts the offering, sending a jolt of electricity through me. I turn away quickly, busying myself with cleaning up.

"Thank you," she says softly.

The words catch me off guard. I spin to face her, confusion etched across my features. "What?"

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