Page 38 of Broken

I perch myself on a stool and watch him cook, noting how at ease he seems in the kitchen. “Do you speak Spanish?”

“Sí, señora. Pero solo cuando estoy enojado…” He winks at me.

Wow. Does he have to be so perfect at everything? “I have no idea what you just said, but it sounded hot.”

His laugh is comforting but sexy, and heat blooms in my chest. “I said. Yes, but only when I’m mad or…”

“Or?” I press my lips together.

He glances over his shoulder. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out soon enough.” His growly tone makes my core contract with need. I can’t help but wonder what he didn’t say and whether that has anything to do with the sudden spike in sexual tension in the room.

“You’re in a very good mood, Mr. James. Did you win your trial?”

He remains focused on the food. “I always win, Spitfire.”

I roll my eyes. “Of course you do.”

The heavenly flavors of garlic,tomatoes, and paprika burst across my tongue as I savor the first mouthful of potato. I’m pretty sure I moan when the hint of spice kicks in. “This is absolutely incredible.”

Nathan offers me his usual half smile in response.

I pop another cube of potato into my mouth and chew. “Are you just naturally good at everything you do?”

He arches an eyebrow at me, and I feel the flush creep over my cheeks. “I guess you’ll have to wait and see, Spitfire.”

Holy fuck. I’m not sure how much longer I can put up with the constant flirting before I end up throwing myself at him. “I mean you’re an amazing cook,” I add, trying to keep the conversation about the delicious food.

“My mom taught all of us boys to cook. She said it was an important life skill.”

“Mmhmm, she’s not wrong. How old were you when she died?”

A muscle in his jaw ticks. “Twenty-six.”

“I’m sorry. It sucks to lose a parent.”

He nods his agreement and tops up our wine glasses. “You were thirteen when your dad was killed?”

I swallow down a knot of guilt and sadness. “Yeah.”

“That must have been rough on you all.”

“It was. Ash was only three, so she doesn’t even remember him. At least I have lots of memories, although sometimes I wonder if that makes it harder, you know?”

“I do.”

“But if I had to choose, I’d rather have the memories and the pain of losing him than not remember him at all. I feel bad for Ash that she’ll never have that.”

He takes a sip of his wine and eyes me over the rim of the glass. “Is that why you’re so protective of her?”

His question blindsides me. “I don’t think I’m overly protective of her. She’s my baby sister.” I hear the defensiveness in my tone, but he’s touched a nerve. I don’t want to think about my overcomplicated relationship with my family right now. Or ever, if I can help it.

His eyes narrow, and he sets down his glass. “It’s not a criticism, Mel. But when I asked you why you were marrying me, one of your reasons was you wouldn’t have to worry about your sister. I get the sense you’ve always been the one to look out for her, that’s all.”

I stare into his deep brown eyes and wonder how a man who’s known me for such a short time can understand me better than my own family—with the exception of Tyler. “I guess. My mom was never really hands-on. It was always my dad who was good with the parenting stuff. And then after he died, she kind of fell to pieces, and Bryce—” I swallow the lump in my throat. “I guess he took over for Dad in her eyes, and what little love she had in her heart, she reserved only for him. It felt like it was me and Ash in our own little world a lot of the time.”

He nods, his jaw ticking, and I wonder what’s going through his mind.

“So yeah, I guess I’m overprotective of her because there was no one else around to keep her safe.”

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