Page 29 of Dark Shadow of Guilt

With his head in the fridge, he grabbed a Bolognese from the other day. After slamming two pans onto the stovetop, he poured the sauce into one. In the other, he put water on to boil for pasta. Television cooking shows were popular with Immortals. They were Dom’s favorite, along with crime dramas.

Lucky for Madeline, this dish was his specialty. Since comforting words weren’t his thing, he hoped a typical home-cooked meal would soothe her. Opening the bread drawer, he chose a baguette bought from aboulangeriein Vast. Sliced it. Buttered it. Sprinkled on garlic salt. Sprinkled on extra. Maybe bad breath would keep him from ravaging the human temptation.

He shoved the bread in the oven and opened a package of fresh spaghetti. Under her watchful eyes, he set out plates.Wine. He grabbed another red. Uncorking it, he filled glasses. For some reason, he was nervous. He never felt this way when his Feard brothers dropped by for dinner, which they did since he was the best cook of the lot. Why was he on edge with the human female?

Seeing a clean Madeline perched on a stool did nothing to temper his desires or deflate his dick. She continued to pose while he served the pasta on plates, placing one in front of her. Finally, he opened the oven to remove the garlic bread.

She stared at her food. “You cook? Can’t you just ... I don’t know ... snap up some dinner?”

He nodded, taking the stool beside her and picking up his fork. “I can, but the experience lacks joy.”

When he saw her hesitate, he said, “The food’s safe.” He twirled his utensil in the spaghetti and shoved it into his mouth. “See? No poison. No drugs. No foaming.”

She rearranged her silverware—knife and spoon on the right, fork on the left—before sampling a bite. Then, apparently convinced he was truthful, Madeline shoveled spaghetti through her open lips. Fast, her utensil whipping back and forth while she studied him.

Dom held her gaze. Finally, she set her fork on an empty plate. “Sorry. I was hungry. I didn’t eat much of what Praevus gave me. I didn’t trust it.”

“How long do you think you were alone before you woke up and escaped?”

“It’s all foggy. Maybe a day. Maybe more.” She fiddled with the napkin on her lap.

They fell into a companionable silence as he continued to eat. She watched each bite he took. Dom finished off his spaghetti and dragged large chunks of garlic bread through the sauce.

She eyed the empty bread plate.

“I can make more,” he said.

Madeline pressed a hand to her stomach. “Thanks, but no. I’ve had too much.”

“Let’s go back to the salon. We’ll finish off the wine there.” Dom pushed off his stool.

Madeline’s gaze swung around the kitchen. “The dishes.”

“Later.”

She wrinkled her nose. “We should do them now.”

“You almost face-planted in your dinner. Would have if you hadn’t been giving your fork so much action. You need to rest. The dishes will wait.”

She glanced back at the messy kitchen.

“Okay.” He snapped his fingers. Dishes clean. Stacked in the cabinet. Utensils, the same. Pots and pans done.

She smiled. “Now, don’t you feel better?”

He didn’t care but nodded to make her happy as they returned to the salon. Dom flopped onto several pillows, lazing, one knee bent as he sipped his wine, enjoying the hissing, sparking fire. From here, he could see the first light of dawn creeping over the horizon. Maybe it would be sunnier and warmer today, the weather less changeable. Probably not.

Madeline angled forward, blurting, “I’ve decided to trust you.”

Dom faced her, a slight smile curling his lips. “I’m ecstatic. Can’t tell you how relieved that makes me.”

“I’ve also decided you’re a bit of an ass.”

“Good judge of character.”

He stared into the fire for some time until he heard soft snuffling sounds from Madeline, a very female-like snore. She was sprawled across two plush pillows, one leg collapsed to the side and her shirt riding up her abdomen. His breath hitched. Her skin was pale and smooth. Leaning toward her, he stretched out an arm to touch her but pulled back.No. He wouldn’t do that.

Distance.

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