Page 66 of Ravaged
CHAPTER 20
Ethan
Each day forward meant another day closer to letting go of Teagen, which meant not being able to keep her safe. The next day was no different. The house was empty. Gerard was taking Clara on a weekend getaway, and Wil and Axe were at an event at Jimmy’s. I was invited but chose to stay behind. Derek was negotiating with a client, and afterward, he was debating returning to Brackston to work out the details with Muro, to get Teagen out of the deal. I was waiting for that text, ready to go with him at a moment’s notice.
But that also meant that for tonight, Teagen and I had the house to ourselves.
“I’m still recovering from yesterday,” she said, with a pleasurable tone to her voice. Lying on the bed, her legs spread in pajama shorts, her cotton shirt rising up, exposing her soft abdomen. Even in chains, the woman was beautiful, with those green eyes staring back at me. “Will you feed me?”
“I thought we just ate,” I said.
“That was, like, five hours ago. Don’t tell me that’s how you keep your figure, by starving yourself.” She wrinkled her nose.
It wasn’t like that. I was too distracted to have an appetite, too eager to get back to Muro. I was debating on whether to go to Brackston myself, without Derek. But I knew I had to respect the Adler business, and that meant waiting to do the negotiation with Derek.
I went down the hallway to the kitchen, leaving the door to my bedroom open. I looked through the fridge.
“There are tomatoes. Squash,” I said.
“Any cheese or milk?” she called from the bedroom.
I checked the drawer for cheese and found a block, as well as an unopened milk carton on the top shelf. “Yeah.”
“How about some pasta?”
I opened up the pantry. It was a walk-in closet, and every square inch of the shelves were covered. But I didn’t see any pasta.
“Don’t think so,” I said. She leaned out more from the doorframe, looking sideways at me.
“Are you sure? It’s always soup or pasta in this house, isn’t it?”
I chuckled to myself. She was right. I didn’t know what I was looking for though. I gestured for her to come forward.
“Come look yourself.”
She hesitated for a moment, then walked, the chains between her ankles rattling on the floor. She reached around me, her breasts pressing into my back.
“Ah! See,” she pulled out a slender blue box, “Everyone has pasta in their pantry.” Sure enough, written on the side, the wordSpaghettiin yellow, cursive letters. Teagen sat at the table. “Now show me your magic.”
I lifted a brow. “I don’t cook.”
“Allow me, then.”
She peered through the cupboards and pulled out a large pot, filling it up with water under the faucet by the stove. Then she melted butter in a cast iron pan, keeping an eye on the pasta in the boiling water. She chopped some tomatoes, squash, and onion, adding them to the pan one at a time. A rich, savory scent filled the room. Comfort settled between us. She was at ease cooking, and I didn’t mind watching her bare legs as she shifted in front of the stove. A few scratches were there from the night before.
“Where do you think Mrs. Adler keeps the spices?” I pointed to the cupboard next to her, up and to the left. “Ah. Should’ve thought of that.”
The chain to the harp necklace rested on her neck, her hair pulled into a high ponytail. I imagined grabbing her shoulders, kissing her neck until she became putty in my hands.
“Did you always love playing the harp?” I asked.
“Sure. I’ve always gravitated towards it,” she said, shifting around a wooden spatula in the pan. “Dad put me in lessons for all sorts of instruments at first, but I always came back to the harp.”
“How long did you take lessons?”
“Until I was ten when we—” she paused, her chains rattling to silence. “Until we started moving around. Then I just played by ear.”
Any artistic passion like that had never suited me. But I admired her for that. For falling in love with something that brought people together. Even a punk fighter from a small town could hear her play a classical song andfeelsomething.
