Page 118 of Forbidden Lessons

I wander into the living area and give Bastian’s house another slow scan. Despite how many times I’ve been here, I can always find something new to appreciate.

Like that painting above the fireplace? I saw it before, but I never reallylooked.

“You like fucked up art, don’t you?”

Bastian chuckles. “You’re admiring my Bosch?”

“Um…admiring it isn’t quite the right word. More likeexaminingit. Is this supposed to be hell?”

“Limbo, actually.”

“Looks pretty hellish to me,” I mutter as I take a sip of wine.

It’s dark, the only specks of light, those of tormented figures being harassed by demons. There’s a freaky creature near the top that’s all arms and legs, holding open its mouth.

It looks like one demon is pushing damned souls into that gaping maw.

“Hungry?”

“This guy certainly is.” I shake off my creeps and go sit at the kitchen counter. Bastian is busy serving up a big bowl of pasta, and I wish he’d hurry the hell up, because I’m dying to know what it tastes like. He sets a bowl down in front of me and takes a seat opposite me at the island.

I’m stabbing my fork into the pasta like a heathen when he holds up his glass. “A toast.”

This pasta better be good.

I force a smile and hold up my glance, trying to stare down into my bowl. There’s this weird smell filling my nose that’s rich and musty and so fucking sexy I’m considering asking Bastian to leave the room so I can have some alone time with my food.

“Here’s to hoping hell doesn’t exist.”

Well, fuck, I’ll drink to that.

I clink his glass, my mouth pursed, but he keeps staring at me like he’s expecting a reply. It’s only when I take a sip of wine that he breaks his focus.

“Oh my God,” I murmur, as soon as I’ve slurped down the first bite of food. “What is this?”

“Wild mushroom ragout pasta with truffle oil.”

I stop eating. “Like…mushrooms you’ve picked yourself?”

Bastian laughs. Takes a sip of wine. There’s a twinkle of firelight in his eyes when he looks over at me. “Like oyster and shiitake mushrooms I bought at the grocer. But I’ll take the compliment.”

Why can’t I shut my damn mouth?

Thankfully, dinner is so good that I barely stop to breathe, never mind speak. Bastian is silent too. The only sound is the soft jazz playing through his invisible sound system.

Then I hear another sound, so quiet it barely registers. But when it does, oh boy.

click

My fork clangs down into my almost empty bowl.

“Everything okay?”

I swipe at my mouth with the linen napkin he’d rolled around my cutlery. Then a big sip of wine to chase down the pasta stuck in my throat.

“Yeah, um, sorry. Thought I heard something.” I try a laugh, cutting off when I hear how forced it sounds. “If you haven’t noticed yet, I’m kinda jumpy.”

“Hm.”

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