Page 17 of Entangled

“Where do you keep the ginger and the cumin?”

“In the top cupboard to your left.”

She pushes up on her tiptoes, and my eyes land on her pert ass in those tight jeans before sliding down her long legs.

I quickly look back up when she turns and says, “Thanks.”

When the dinner is cooked, and we’re seated at the table, she steals my breath with a drawn-out moan as she tastes the food.

“This is… Wow, Grayson! I love it.”

“That good, huh?”

She moans again, and I try my fucking hardest to keep my thoughts out of the gutter. It has clearly been too long since I got laid, and I’m projecting it on my dead daughter’s best friend. That thought is the bucket of ice-cold water I need to clear my head.

“I don’t think I can top this,” she says, covering her mouth with her hand when she talks.

“Yeah?” I stand up and grab another beer from the fridge. After popping the lid, I take a swig while watching her. She has almost cleaned her plate. Nodding her head, she drags her thumb through the sauce before bringing it to her mouth. “It’s delicious.”

“Who taught you to cook?”

She shrugs, sucking the tip of her thumb clean. “I taught myself. There’s never anyone home, you know? Chloe always liked to bake, so I also learned some things from her.”

It makes sense. I’ve had to clean countless messes over the years after they decided to try a new recipe they found online. At least it filled the house with giggles and nice smells after my wife’s disappearance.

“Did you buy dessert?” she asks when I continue watching her. I don’t miss the hitch in her breath.

“There’s ice cream in the fridge.”

She makes no move to stand. Instead, she chews on her lip, seemingly in thought. “How about you, Grayson?”

The soft tone of her voice has me raising my brow.

She continues, “You asked me earlier what my dreams are. I know it’s too soon since… well, since Chloe’s disappearance, but you can’t stay locked away in your house forever. What’s your plan?”

Pushing off the fridge, I walk to the kitchen counter and stare at my reflection in the window while I take a swig of beer. The dark has long since settled, and the chill seeps in through the gaps in the window frame. It’s a cold evening outside. “The frosty nights make it harder. I can’t stop thinking, ‘What if her body is dumped somewhere? What if she’s cold?’”

The chair scrapes on the floor and then I feel her behind me, her soft breaths heating my left shoulder blade through the thin fabric of my shirt. She’s close, too close.

“You can’t let your thoughts go there, Mr. Reid. You’ll torture yourself.”

I turn, slowly placing my empty beer bottle down on the counter. “It’s Grayson.”

The air crackles between us as she wets her lips and offers a nervous smile. A smile I should not soak up with my eyes.

“I should go,” she whispers.

“Yeah,” I agree, dipping my gaze to her cleavage before looking away, “you should.”

Her footsteps retreat, but before she leaves the kitchen, she turns in the doorway with her hand on the frame. “Thanks again for dinner.”

Then she’s gone, and I drop my head back between my shoulders, dragging a hand down my face. “Jesus Christ.”

CHAPTER8

WILLOW

JANUARY 13TH, 2016

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