Page 89 of A Smile Full of Lies
Good.
I was in her space, and she wasn’t moving away. If anything, she leaned closer.
Fuck.
She dipped a ladle into the pot with shaky hands, filled a bowl, and shoved it toward me like it was a peace offering.
“Here. You hungry?”
I took it, my fingers grazing hers just long enough to watch the breath catch in her throat.
“You nervous, Ros?”
She blinked up at me, playing it off with that soft snort she used when she was rattled.
“About soup?”
I grabbed a spoon, took a slow sip, and let the silence hang, watching the tension bleed into her shoulders as she waited for my verdict.
“Perfect,” I said, voice low. “Best I’ve ever had.”
Her lashes lifted sharply, those blue-green eyes going wide with suspicion.
“You’re full of shit.”
“Maybe.” I stepped closer, crowding her again. “But that doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”
She rolled her eyes, but the flush on her cheeks was back, blooming deeper now.
I leaned against the counter, legs spread just enough to make her aware of the space between us.
“You know what’s not fair?”
Ros looked up, hesitant.
“What?”
“You, in my kitchen, smelling like garlic and rosemary and comfort, acting like you didn’t just ruin my entire sense of self-control.”
Her breath hitched.
“Knox—”
I didn’t move. Just held her gaze while I set the bowl down on the counter.
“You shouldn’t do things like this.”
“Like what?” she asked, barely above a whisper.
“Make me feel like I never want you to leave.”
She went utterly still, so I pressed on.
“If you keep cooking for me like this,” I murmured, “I might not let you.”
Her lips parted and her eyes flashed wide, like she hadn’t expected that.
Good. Because neither had I, and now that it had slipped out, I couldn’t take it back. Didn’t want to, either.
