Page 51 of Crossed By the Stars
She didn’t seem as happy with this prospect as I was, but she didn’t fight me on it either. What I would have preferred was to have her in the same bed with me again. That single thought was a shot to the heart because I’d denied my feelings for her for too long. In the past few years, it had been tantalizing to flirt and tease and push at the wall of sexual tension between us every time we met. We’d both done it, knowing we’d walk away without having satisfied the building desire. Our denial had become some sort of twisted reward and punishment all rolled together. But now… Now my brain and my body knew I wanted more, that I was tearing down the barrier we’d always refused to cross.
I helped her unpack, but this time she didn’t sit it out. She bent back and forth from the suitcase to the rods to hang things or to shove them in drawers in the closet. After the ten minutes it took to put her small collection of clothes away, I could tell she’d worn herself out again, even if she’d never admit it.
“Why don’t you rest while I go figure out what we’re doing for dinner?” I asked, trying to keep it casual without any demand.
She nodded, and I wondered if it was because she agreed she needed to rest or if she just wanted to escape my presence for a few moments.
I left her and found my way to the gourmet kitchen that was a delightful mix of modern and eighteenth-century. As I opened the refrigerator and cupboards, I realized Vanya must have had a grocery service come by, because the shelves were stocked with more than I’d expected. Enough that I could make a poor imitation of my father’s macaroni and cheese as well as an onion soup. Comfort food I’d loved growing up. Even when we’d had a full-time, live-in chef, Papa had always made it himself whenever I needed cheering. Just like he’d been the one to teach me to cook the basics as I got older, saying every person should know how to prepare a few meals.
I busied myself with making enough food for the ten people in the house. After placing the dishes in the oven, I went to the library I remembered from my last stay with Vanya. I searched the shelves, lips quirking upon seeing the translation ofThe Sound of the Wavesby Yukio Mishima. Not quite aRomeo and Julietretelling, but I hoped Jada would get the humor behind it. The forbidden-ness of the couple.
Returning to the kitchen, I made sure Cillian and the men knew dinner was waiting for them and then made a tray of food for Jada and me. When I knocked softly on Jada’s door, there was no answer. I pushed it open to find her asleep on the bed with all her clothes and shoes on. She’d passed out, and I almost retreated in order to let her rest, but then she mumbled something in her dreams.
“No… I won’t.” Her words were soft but full of fear. She tossed and turned, a gasp of pain bringing her fully awake in a sitting position, clutching at her side.
Our eyes met across the dimly lit room. The light from the open doorway of my bedroom was the only light into hers.
“You’re awake. Perfectly timed,” I said, stepping in farther.
She looked disoriented at first before a grimace took over, pain and reality invading. Her eyes took me in, lingering on the tray in my hand.
“What’s all this?”
“Food and entertainment,” I said.
Her eyes fell to my lips, strolling down my body before returning to my face, making it difficult to not fling the food to the ground and pull her into me, bruised body be damned. I set the tray on the bed and made my way to her. I tugged at the boots on her feet.
“What are you doing, Armaud?” she asked, voice still husky from sleep.
“Didn’t your mother ever teach you not to put your shoes on your bed?” I asked.
“Get off of me.” She pushed and reached for the shoes at the same time, resulting in a groan of pain escaping her lips.
“Stop being so stubborn,” I said and gently pulled at her other shoe. “Do you want to change into something more comfortable?” I asked, looking down at the fitted pants and sweater she’d thrown on that morning. Stylish. Modern. Completely Jada. Between Cara and Yuriko, they’d done a good job assembling a Jada-worthy wardrobe at the last minute.
“Stop being nice, or I’m going to have to stab you with something.”
I chuckled as she slowly slid off the bed and went into the closet while I turned on a bedside lamp and piled the pillows up for her to lean against. When she came out, she was in another sleep shirt like she’d worn the night before, all bare legs and no bra, her pebbled tips showing clearly through the thin silk.
I swallowed and turned away, patting the bed.
“Come eat.”
“Where’d you get all this?” she asked.
“I made it.”
She eyed the bowls. “You did? Or you had someone make it?”
“I can cook. Just because you don’t know this about me doesn’t make it not true.”
I helped her back up on the bed, and she grunted a thanks. I toed off my sneakers and then joined her. She looked at me with suspicion.
“What? I can’t eat what I made?” I said, trying to keep things light so I wouldn’t think of all her soft skin on display underneath the blankets.
Like the night before at my apartment, we ate in silence for a few moments.
“What’s the book for?” she asked.
