Page 16 of Bound By Dance and Desire

I tip toed back a step. Those last few words were said in a silky, dangerous croon, saved only because his lips curled in a half smile and his eyes warmed with mirth—at my expense.

“You know what?” I abandoned my quiet stubbornness, lowering back down to my heels. “You're an adult, and an expert in your own culture, I assume. I don't think I should tell you what to do.”

He nodded, solemn. “Very wise. Shall we go in, or do you have any further objections? I don’t mind. It’s rather adorable.”

In response, I walked past him, my steps a little heavier than normal. “I should spend all of your money,” I muttered.

“There’s plenty of it to spend, darling.”

I almost tripped. What billionaire romance had I fallen into?

Oh, right. Not the kind where the heroine can actually have sex.

I followed Andrei, who took the lead into the market, pausing as he snagged a large woven basket. I trailed him as he made hisway around the store, silently tallying the cost of the groceries as he blithely tossed expensive meats, cheeses, produce and pastries into the basket without glancing at anything more than hand written labels.

I cleared my throat, once, and he slanted me a cool look that dared me to protest. After that, I wandered behind him eating the samples.

“You shop like a drunk housewife who won the lottery and couldn’t afford a full grocery budget before,” I observed.

He looked down his nose at me. “I have no idea what you’re blathering about, Anah.”

Bet he didn’t. “Uh-huh.”

I'd never purchased this amount of food in one trip before. My mouth watered at the thought of eating something other than noodles and preserved chopped mystery meat that the Coal District butcher was vague on identifying whenever I asked.

I'd ask, she'd avoid my eyes and insist it was fit for consumption, then offer me a discount. We'd part, both vaguely satisfied by the transaction. Her, because I didn’t insist on pesky answers, me, because I saved a few bucks.

I was still alive, so it couldn't be that bad. Besides, it mostly tasted like Spam and I was fine with that.

“Do you prefer white or red? Dry or sweet?” he asked, soliciting my opinion for the first time.

“Oh, I get to have a preference?”

He paused, his long fingers caressing a dark bottle. “Of course. Wine is an intensely personal experience. What are we having for dinner tonight?”

It was such a mundane, married person question that I answered automatically. “How about the steak and root veggies? And some of that grain boiled in the duck fat.”

He pursed his lips. “A red, perhaps.”

“Andrei, I don’t drink.”

“May I ask why?”

I frowned. “I don’t want to damage my body.”

“Ah. I understand, though a single glass will do no damage. It’s your choice. Dessert?”

Wine, dessert. I eyed his lean physique. Did he eat like this every day? “I’m not trying to carb load right now.”

Andrei lifted his gaze from the wine rack and raked my body with a professional gaze. “Hasannah. You need to eat. Dessert won't impact your training.”

“I'm human. Our metabolisms are different.”

“It isn't that different, little mortal. How many hours a day do you train?”

“I mean. . .eight hours? Five days a week, strength training once a week and then rest any injuries.”

There was a touch of condescension in his gaze. “You can have dessert, darling. House warriors keep a similar schedule and I would hazard our nutritional requirements are similar.”

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