Page 50 of The Black Trilogy

“I’d rather not talk about it.”

He rolled his eyes, clearly convinced I was exaggerating. “If it makes you feel better, I promise.”

It was Luke’s turn to make breakfast the next morning, and mine to wake up sweating. I kicked the sheets away from my feet and stumbled out onto the balcony, gripping the railing as I gulped in air. The peaceful view turned black as I screwed my eyes shut. No, no, no. I’d seen my husband’s death again, played out in all its fiery horror. Why couldn’t I forget? The noise, the flash of heat, the smoke. Would it ever fade?

The delicious aroma of bacon filled the air as I shuffled into the kitchen, and Luke greeted me with a smile more genuine than my own.

“My specialty,” he said, pointing at the frying pan with a spatula. “Something I can actually cook from scratch.”

“I’m impressed.” I headed for the coffee machine, drawn like a magnet. “Let me show you my specialty.”

I’d made us both cappuccinos by the time Luke set two bacon rolls on the counter. I could work a coffee machine as well as I could fire a gun. My survival depended on both.

“Ketchup?” he asked.

“Lots of it.”

He slid a plate over, and I bit into my roll and groaned. “You know if you ever wanted to quit your job, you could become a bacon chef?”

“Keep that up, and I’ll make you breakfast every morning.”

Two weeks ago, I couldn’t have contemplated that, but now… The idea didn’t seem so bad. I could wake up to worse than Luke’s easy grin.

“Anything you want to do today?” he asked when we’d both finished eating.

“I’ve been eyeing up your gym.”

“Knock yourself out.”

“I’ll try not to take that literally.” I’d always preferred to knock out other people instead. “I’ll have to pass for the moment, though—I don’t have any shorts with me.”

“Have a look in my wardrobe—there’s probably something with a drawstring you can make do with.”

I used to “borrow” my husband’s shirts all the time. Would it feel weird wearing another man’s clothes?

“They’re clean, I promise,” Luke added.

Ash, stop being sentimental. “Thanks. I’d like that.”

The air-conditioned gym would make a pleasant change to running through mud. I found a new pair of navy blue boxer shorts in Luke’s closet, relieved to note the lack of novelty underwear. Nothing killed a girl’s libido faster than Bugs Bunny hopping over a man’s package. Not that my libido needed killing, of course. Nope. No way.

The boxers sat low on my hips, but I was only wearing them in private, so they’d do. I snagged one of his T-shirts too. Comfy. What were the chances of me taking it home without him noticing?

“I’m tired just watching you,” Luke said a couple of hours later. He’d spent the last thirty minutes sitting on the floor with his tablet while I ran on the treadmill.

“Perhaps you should try joining in?”

“Not today. I’m still groggy. I will next weekend.”

Next weekend? He’d made a big assumption there. I opened my mouth and closed it again. What was stopping me from setting him straight? Maybe how sweet he was. When I staggered off the treadmill, he had a towel and a smoothie waiting for me.

“I put protein powder in it. You need it after that run.” Then, despite me being all sweaty, he put an arm around my shoulders and pulled me close. “Thanks for looking after me yesterday. Nobody’s ever done that before.”

In the gloom beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, movement caught my eye. What was it? A fox? An owl? I tried to focus, but Luke blocked my view with his chest, and I gave up.

“Everybody needs a hand when they’re down,” I muttered.

Or lips. Lips would do. He leaned down and softly kissed the top of my head.

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