Page 19 of Dangerous

I’d thought that getting all domesticated and making our house into a home would perhaps break the ice between us—that if he saw me making an effort to be more like what he wanted from a wife, he would be easier to manage.

But if the bastard wasn’t even home to notice, then my plan wasn’t going to work.

I looked up as Rob and Greg came, huffing and puffing, through the open French doors into the reception room with a seven-foot bookshelf made from solid oak, sweat beading on both their foreheads.

I hadn’t talked much to either of them or the other men who played bodyguards in front of our house, apart from when I needed to have them approve the lists of companies where I’d ordered food and furniture from.

They scared me. Everything about them, from their tough faces, bulging muscles, and unapproachable demeanors, reminded me of the darkest parts of my childhood. I had learned to fear men like them from an early age, as much as I’d learned to fear their superiors, like Blaine and his family. Yet, when I looked at them now as they dragged all my heavy purchases up and down the stairs, to make sure everything was just as I’d asked, it was easier to see them for more than something to be scared of. They were busting their arses to make me happy, even if they did it with grim expressions and only because Blaine undoubtedly had told them to help me out whenever I asked.

A wave of gratitude swept over me when I saw Greg wince as they sat down my heavy book case. Babysitting your boss’s wife would have to suck pretty hard, even if your day job was being a criminal, and yet they did it without making me feel like a burden. Granted, they didn’t exactly make me feel warm and welcome, either, but then again,Ihadn’t done anything to makethemfeel welcome.

“Would you like a cup of tea?

Neither man managed to hide a look of surprise as I stood up from the sofa and offered each a genuine, if somewhat tentative, smile.

“Uh. Sure. Thanks.”

“It’s the least I can do, for all the work you’ve done for me,” I chirped, suddenly in a much better mood. Perhaps it was because it was my first positive interaction with another human being in weeks, but the simple act of putting the kettle on and getting the fancy china out I’d bought a few days ago made me feel like a different person. Or a real person, I should say, rather than a depressed captive with access to the Internet and a shopping addiction.

I made the tea in my new pretty, pink-and-green pot and arranged three cups on a silver tray. Then, thinking about all the hard work Greg and Rob had been doing all day, I threw together a few sandwiches as well, but when I went to put them on the tray I realized that I likely wasn’t going to get many other chances to break out my Butterfly Bloom afternoon tea set.

Fifteen minutes later, I’d set up the three-tier cake stand and filled it with sandwiches, store-bought scones and some cakes I’d planned on eating later in my room, and the kitchen breakfast bar had been transformed into a full-on tea party.

“Tea’s ready,” I yelled up the stairs, where I’d last heard the two bodyguards bump around with yet another piece of bulging furniture.

From the looks on their faces when they entered the kitchen thirty seconds later, they hadn’t expected the colorful spread.

“This is for us?” Rob’s one eyebrow was quirked in what I could only assume was mild disbelief.

I felt my face heat up a bit. Okay, so maybe I’d gone a bit overboard. “Yeah… I figured you might be hungry, and…” And it wasn’t like I would be able to invite anyone else over for tea and scones anytime soon. Not that I was the most social of people, but a full week in near-isolation had apparently made me pretty starved for company. I sat down on the bar stool farthest left and grabbed a sandwich triangle—crust free. “Help yourselves.”

Both men sat down with some hesitation, which only emphasized how much their rough appearance clashed with the delicate porcelain.

“You don’t like afternoon tea?” I guessed, doing my best to keep the disappointment out of my voice. Just because I was desperately lonely enough to try and socialize with Blaine’s hired goons didn’t mean that they had any interest in making even the most basic of smalltalk with me.

“No, it’s fine. Great, even,” Rob hurriedly replied, and I got the feeling I hadn’t kept my disappointment very well-hidden. He grabbed a sandwich himself and took a big bite. His hum of enjoyment seemed more genuine.

“We’re just used to Blaine,” Greg said, a wide grin spreading on his face as he picked a buttered scone off the cake stand. “The most you get out of him is a lukewarm beer after a hit.”

I paled at the reference to theotherpart of their job, but caught myself before I could freak out. I knew what they did—being a delicate flower about it wasn’t going to do me any good right now.

Rob gave him an elbow to the side. “Don’t talk about that in front of a lady, eh? She don’t wanna hear it.”

“It’s not like she doesn’t know,” Greg muttered.

Rob rolled his eyes—a move that looked surprisingly comical due to his general physique. It’s not often you get the delight of seeing a six-foot tall, four-foot wide criminal wearing a leather vest roll his eyes like a teenage girl. “You’ll have to excuse him. He’s never held on to a lady friend long enough to know the basics.”

Greg gave him a baleful glare and muttered what were undoubtedly profanities under his breath, but I latched on to the conversation changer with both hands.

“And you? Have you got a girlfriend?”

“A wife, going on five years now.” His face lit up with pure reverence, and I found it impossible not to instantly like him a whole lot more. A man who lit up like a Christmas tree at the mention of his wife had to have some good qualities tucked away, no matter his chosen profession. “And two wee ones, four and two.”

I smiled at his obvious pride. “Boys or girls?”

“One of each.” Rob took a sip of his tea and his gaze turned somewhat sly. “What are you hoping for? Once you and Blaine get to the baby-making?”

I choked on the tea that’d been on its way down my throat. Greg helpfully thumped his fist against my back, making me cough and spit the offending liquid up.

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