Page 39 of Property of Chaos

FIFTEEN

VANESSA

Murphy circles my legs,dicing with death as I move the pot of boiling pasta across to the sink to strain the spaghetti. My feet ache after a long day in the cafe, but the busyness was a great distraction. One I’m thankful for as I fill the evening hours until Chaos arrives.

That is if he wasn’t just fucking with me.Damnit. My shoulders drop, pot handles clenched in my fists as I stare out the small window to the overgrown field beyond. I really should call Doctor Phillips. This fascination with a man who fucking broke into my house isn’t healthy in the slightest. But I know in my heart why I don’t reject the idea of Chaos: he’s read my messiest secrets and still managed to look at me and smile.

The man didn’t care, and fuck it all if that thought alone doesn’t turn me on.

My intruder saw the most raw and ugly parts of me, and it didn’t stop him from coming to find me at the cafe.Don’t flatter yourself.I saw him peck Theresa on the cheek like she’s his little old nonna; who said he came to see me? Maybe he wanted to visit her?You know the truth, Ness.It wasn’t my boss that he watched from a distance. It wasn’t my boss’s journal that hespread out on the table. And it wasn’t my boss whom he made sure to see before he left.

I dump the spaghetti into the colander, a cloud of steam erupting before my face. Falling for the fantasy that he has a genuine interest in me is dangerous. Especially when I already teeter on the edge of a fucking mental breakdown. I need to find out the truth about Mom and havehimfirmly in my rearview again before I can entertain the very real possibility of heartache. Because that’s all he’ll be, right? Another man who takes what he needs from me and leaves me when reality proves too much hard work.

Fuck—I’m too much hard work for myself most days.

I set the empty pot back on the burner, narrowly avoiding tripping on Murphy as he trots into the living room with a yip and promptly makes himself at home on my chair.

“If you think there’ll be leftovers, you’re mistaken, asshole.” I reach for the sauce and damn near drop the glass jar on the floor. “Fuck!”

“That’s not a very nice way to talk to your guest.” Chaos leans in the open doorway, arms folded over his broad chest. The man has no right to look so downright desirable in denim and leather.

“To be a guest,” I quip, recovering from the fright, “I would have needed to invite you here. But I distinctly don’t remember doing that.”

“You didn’t say no when I told you I’d see you tonight, either.”

“I thought you meant after dark.” I upend the sauce into the pot and ditch the jar in the sink to clean later.

He smirks, pushing off the doorframe to cross over to the cooktop. “I can come back later if that’s how you prefer it.”

Say no, Ness.“Whatever you want.”

He crooks an eyebrow and then turns to leave.

“Wait.”Fuck him.“I’ve made way too much to eat alone.”

His perfect pout curls up on one side. “It’s almost like youwantedme here for dinner.”

Ishe an apparition? A fucking demon I summon with my wicked thoughts?Wouldn’t that be fun?“Sit.” I gesture to the island with a wooden spoon before dunking it in the pot. “How hungry are you?”

“Starved.” He tugs a stool out, completely missing the blush of my cheeks as he regards Murphy atop my chair. “Cat.”

The furry menace yips happily.

“You two seem to be friends already.”

Chaos takes a seat and sets his elbows on the counter, hands clasped together. “We’ve spent some time together.”

Have they now?My gaze roams the lines of his shoulders, the swell of his arms, and the woven bracelet around his right wrist.Interesting.

“So.” I give the man my back and focus on our meal, retrieving the pasta to add to the pot. “What brings you over today?”

“Wanted to bring this back.”

I don’t need to turn around again to know how my journal sounds when it slaps against marble. “Finished with it, have you?”

“For now.” The wooden stool creaks as he moves. “It makes for interesting reading.”

Here it comes.Here’s the part where he mocks me. Where he takes my trauma and twists it into entertainment for himself. He’s probably already recited the worst parts to the rest of his crew, the bunch of them laughing at me. “Does it?” My words come out weaker than intended.

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