Page 33 of Claimed By the Sinful Dragon
“You swear a lot.”
I glared at him through my burning eyes. “Anything else you want to criticize me for? Might as well get it all out.”
He pressed his lips together and shook his head, and then thrust a napkin in my direction. I snatched it from him ungraciously and wiped my eyes.
“Your life doesn’t depend on it,” he eventually said tersely.
“Huh?”
“The food. Your life doesn’t depend on it. I’m not about to kill you over a few spoiled meals.”
“Oh.”
“I’m not sure if you genuinely believed that, or if you’re prone to hyperbole, so I thought I’d clear up any confusion.”
So kind of him. Was he expecting me to thank him? “Are you expecting me to thank you?”
“No.”
“Good. Because I’m not about to thank you for agreeing not to murder me after abducting me against my will.”
“Noted.” Was that smirk tugging at the corner of his lips? Asshole. He was mocking me. “Instead of thanking me, you can answer a question for me.”
I stared at him suspiciously. “I’m not about to tell you my sexual history, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“It wasn’t.” His eyes searched me in a way that made me suspect he was definitely thinking about my sexual historynow.Great work, Kaylee. Just great. But whatever he was thinking, he didn’t voice it. Instead, his face got serious again. “Were you telling the truth about never having been taught anything about cooking?”
“Well, duh. Why d’you think I suck at it?”
“Interesting.” He steepled his hands and regarded me over the top of them, like my answer truly was interesting, his food completely ignored—which, to be fair, was probably for the best. “I had no idea you were so…inexperienced.”
His eyes gleamed darkly, and I rolled mine.
“Yeah, yeah. Hilarious.” I picked up my knife and fork, and carved at my steak with more force than necessary. Huh. Actually, it was the exact right amount of force. I frowned. Guess I’d overcooked it a little. These things really did not take long in a pan.
I chewed the small piece I’d carved off…and chewed. Fuck’s sake. Missed the mark again. Who the hell knew that cooking was so hard?
It wasn’t until I swallowed, and was mentally debating whether to try my luck with the potatoes—which wereadmittedly a little blacker around the edges than I’d intended—that I realized he was still staring at me.
I furrowed my brow in a scowl, not in the mood for his scrutiny, and snapped my gaze to meet his.
“Aren’t you going to eat?” I demanded. “After making such a big fuss about dinner, I assume you must have been famished.”
I expected him to retort that his hunger had no bearing on expecting his slave—sorry, servant—to fulfil her duties, or some such shit, but instead he picked up his cutlery, pinned his steak with his fork, and sliced the knife through it. And that simple action had absolutely no business being as hot as it somehow was. The muscles in his forearms, bared by the shirt rolled up to his elbows, barely flexed, but somehow every part of my body was aware of them. Still not taking his eyes from mine, he lifted the piece of steak speared on his fork, and slipped it between his lips. His jaw worked twice, a slight smirk playing over his lips, and then he swallowed. My eyes tracked the motion, and then I jerked them away and down to my plate.
“See something you like, Tribute?” he asked, his smoky voice unmistakably a challenge.
“Sure. This…cutlery…is really nice.”Smooth.
“I’m so glad you find the…cutlery…pleasing.”
I knew if I looked up I’d find amusement lurking in those piercing, predatory eyes that seemed to track my every move. So I set about sawing through the next piece of steak, keeping my eyes deliberately downcast. I had no clue what game Lord Hot-and-Cold Asshole was playing today, skipping breakfast, then letting me borrow the book, then taking it back again, then mocking my food, and then looking at me likethat…but I had no interest in playing.
“You’re unhappy,” he said.
“No kidding. You abducted me from everything I knew—”
“Your old life was one of poverty and derision.”
