Page 31 of Saving Mr. Bell

Rudolf frowned. “What are you thinking about?”

“Your armpit.”

I laughed at his expression, Rudolf for once seeming unsure how he was supposed to react to that nugget of honesty. Which was understandable. “Go and have your shower.”

He tipped his head to one side and fluttered his eyelashes, his shock of blond hair falling over his brow. “Are you sure I can’t tempt you? I’ll let you scrub whatever parts of me you want to scrub. It’s up to you whether you use a washcloth or your tongue.”

The offer had a stab of arousal going through me, but I stuck to my guns. “Not tonight.” Thankfully, he didn’t push it, withdrawing from the doorway, and the familiar sound of the shower starting up a few moments later. I pottered around the kitchen until Rudolf called to say he was done and the shower was all mine. He’d left the bedroom door ajar, but I resisted the temptation to peek inside. To say we were in the middle of nowhere, the cabin had some of the best water pressure I’d ever experienced. Perhaps that was why: no competing with other households.

Having not bothered this morning, I shaved as well, a little voice at the back of my head asking me whether I was concerned about giving Rudolf stubble rash? I ignored it, refusing to entertain the suggestion that I was so sure we’d end up kissingagain. Dressed once more, I found Rudolf in the kitchen, frowning at an onion. “What did it do?”

“Huh?”

“The onion. It seems to have upset you.” I sat on the stool at the breakfast bar, resting my chin on my hand. “Did it refuse to clap at one of your concerts? Did it steal one of your original compositions?”

Rudolf rolled his eyes, but I barely noticed. Now that I knew how enjoyable kissing him was, I was struggling to focus on anything but his lips. “It stands accused of being an onion.”

“I would say it’s guilty. Unless it’s a cleverly disguised potato. In which case, I believe there are extra charges that need to be brought against it for misleading the public.”

“I hate chopping onions,” Rudolf explained.

“So… don’t.”

“I’m making Spaghetti Bolognese. It’ll taste shit without onion. I was hoping if I stared at it for long enough, it would just volunteer itself into slices.”

I laughed. “Give it here.” Rudolf rolled it across the counter toward me and then crossed his arms over his chest and waited. “I’m clever, but I’m not that clever.”

“Huh?”

“Knife? Chopping board?”

He passed both across, and I set to work on it. “I never knew you could cook. I guess I assumed you’d have someone do that for you.”

“Back in England, I do. A chef hired by my father.” Rudolf pulled a face. “Which begs two questions.”

“Go on.” I sniffed as the onion fumes got to me.

“Why is it yet another person my father hired, and I got no say in? I mean, don’t get me wrong, he’s a fantastic chef. But maybe I want a chef who can cook Thai food. Or Japanese. Whereas Santino, in case you can’t tell from the name, is Italian, so it’s allpasta.” Rudolf laughed. “Which I appreciate is ironic while I’m boiling spaghetti. But yeah, I’d like to have had some input. And it’s not like he’s been there since I was a child. He’s a fairly recent hire in the last few years.”

“And the second question?”

Rudolf sighed. “The second question is why I’m still living with my father?”

“How often are you actually there?”

“Not that often.”

“That’s probably your answer, then. It’s just easier. Moving takes time and effort.”

“I should have made time. I could have a nice little penthouse in Central London overlooking the Thames. A bachelor pad.” He looked up, noticing for the first time how much I was struggling with the onion. He reached across and wiped a tear away with the pad of his thumb. “No need to cry for me, Arlo. I’ll be okay. My father’s enormous house and the Italian food made by a personal chef aren’t that bad.”

I batted his hand away. “Ha bloody ha. It’s the onion, as you very well know.”

“Which is why I hate chopping them.”

“Does it ruin your make-up?”

He pointed a wooden spoon at me. “If I were you, I wouldn’t remind me that your ill-timed abduction has left me without eyeliner.”

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