Page 142 of Ensnared

Ilook back at the screens, butIdon’t see them now—just memories of my mother grinning up at my father, her hands deep in a messy bowl of cabbage the color of a burnished sunrise.Myfather sweating every time he took a bite, because my mother also liked her kimchi to be as hot as the sun, and he had never had a head for heat.

Lucienhas never been afraid of a little heat, though.

“Youdon’t talk about them much.”There’smore than a hint of a question in his voice.

“Don’tI?”Isay, thoughIknow it’s true.ThenIadd more quietly, “Ithink about them often.”

Lucienpresses our palms together more fully, and my stomach does a low, hard flip.

“Imiss mine too.”

Hesitantly, he strokes a thumb over my hand where we’re joined, andIknowIshould pull away now.Thisis getting too close.

ButIdon’t.Notjust yet.

SurelyI’mbreaking no vows by just holding his hand.I’vecome far closer to breaking them in the past.Alittle hand holding is nothing.

“Whyhaven’t you made her recipe since we’ve been here?” he asks.

BecauseIhave no family to make it with.

Strange,Inever made it withSoomin, either.Shehad always had her own recipe, and she preferred to make it herself.

“Ittakes a long time to make,”Isay instead. “AndIwasn’t sure anyone else would have a taste for it.”

“Itwasn’t that hard,”Luciendisagrees. “AndEdenlikes it.ShelovesKoreanfood.”

Iblink, unsure why that surprises me. “Shedoes?”

Helooks far too amused. “Youknow, you really should just talk to her one day without all the fancy interrogation tactics.Thetwo of you have a lot in common.She’salso raided your mom’s old collection ofK-dramas.Ormaybe it’s yours.”

IknowEdenandIhave a lot in common.Books, and philosophy, and tea... andLucien.PreciousLucien.PreciousEden.Theywill be beautiful together,Iknow.Pure, precious, andhappy.

“Mymother loved them, andIcouldn’t bear to throw them away.”Ismile, then give him an arch look. “They’refar too sappy for my taste.”

“Uh-huh,”Luciensays, and his dimples are definitely toying with me now.Thesight of them makes my chest throb—and my erection go absolutely nowhere.There’sjust enough sass in his voice to warrant a little lesson in manners.

Ifhe were mine.

Hemust see something of whatI’mthinking in my face because a tremor runs through him, and he glances away. “Anyway, the kimchi’s not too bad.Bitof ketchup and it’d be totally edible.”

Pardon?I’mpulled out of my thoughts.EvenforLucien, that’s...

Settlingback in my chair,Irelease his hand and catch his wrist again.Iyank him forward so he’s off balance and press down in warning. “Youput ketchup anywhere close to my mother’s recipe, andIwill empty a bag of rice on the kitchen floor and make you pick up every last grain with a pair of tweezers between your teeth.”

Lucien’smouth drops open, and he seems caught somewhere between laughter and horror. “Yourcreativity is a little frightening sometimes, you know that?”

Iknow thatIwant to press him into the wall and choke his laughter with my tongue.

Hewas your patient,Iremind myself.Hewas for years.Youhave far too much influence over him.Itwould be unethical.

Butimages of the last time my weakness overcame me are quick to spring to mind.Theday his stupidity reached new heights—literally—and he somehow convincedBeauto race up that cliffside.Withoutgear, without a plan to get down.

Withouthis brain, apparently.

Imade him repay every minute of the unbearable hours he’d terrified me.Itortured him until tears tracked down that cheeky, bratty face and his dimples tucked themselves away in apology.Untilhe was unbearably hard, throbbing, and mindless with the need to come.Untilhe apologized, and begged me so sweetly, and my raging fear slaked itself in his torment.Thegrateful little whimper he gave whenIfinally allowed him release has gotten me off more nights thanIcan count.Theway he snuggled into my side asItended him afterwards...

“Whatare you thinking about?” he asks in a low, husky voice.

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