Compromising Kessen (Vandenbrook #1)(55)

She shrugged guiltily.

“I like you.” He whispered the words slowly, almost too slowly. Her eyes snapped up to meet his. He took another deep breath. “I really like you, and I’m obviously attracted to you; then again, I’m certain every male in the universe is, but I haven’t been fair to you. I shouldn’t just maul you or try to think of ways to compromise you any more than I already have, and I’m sorry. I haven’t been acting … like a gentleman.”

Now, in any romance novel, this was the place where the girl was supposed to swoon and scream her undying love for the man, but Kessen was not in a romance novel, and she wasn’t just any girl. Some girls swoon; other girls get embarrassed.

Kessen, however, had never felt so lustful in her entire life. For some reason, while his confession should have made her feel protected and cherished, it did more than that. It made her want to maul him herself. Maybe it was all the cold water, maybe she had a fever, or maybe—just maybe—she felt the same way, and he was the only one brave enough to admit it.

There was suddenly an electric shift in the room, as if the electrical currents were now pulsating with their hearts. Kessen swallowed as he removed his hand from her mouth. She didn’t count how many seconds she spent staring at him, but it was more than was socially acceptable. He didn’t break eye contact either. In fact, neither of them moved, probably for fear of what would happen. They were totally without chaperones, and they knew—both of them knew—what they felt was fierce.

“Ummm.” Her voice was cracking, but what did he expect? She was pulsing with desire. “I think we should make dinner now.”

“Right,” was his answer, but he didn’t move. Instead he continued to stare.

She broke the spell by getting up, although for some reason it had become extremely difficult to walk in a straight line. Good Lord, she was acting like she was drunk!

Somehow her body found the kitchen, even though her mind was clearly inebriated. Unfortunately for her, she could feel the magnetism of Christian’s presence directly behind her. Did the man have to walk so close to her? It was hard enough breathing the same air without jumping on him. She hadn’t been one to date much. Maybe this was what happened when girls stayed single for too long.

She opened the pantry and scanned the contents. “What do you feel like?” Kessen turned to face him and noticed his visible pause. His eyes furrowed into intense thought as he ran his hands through his dark hair.

“What about spaghetti?”

Kessen turned back around to look for some sauce. “Aha!” She pulled it out. “Nothing beats Ragu Old World style.” She held the prized sauce into the air in triumph, while Christian laughed.

“Pasta?” he asked, washing his hands in the nearby sink.

“You mean noodles?”

“The word noodles spits in the face of actual pasta; it’s a deplorable American word.”

“Fine,” she said, searching the pantry. “What about penne pasta?”

“Good enough,” His hands reached to turn the stove on. Within minutes he had boiling water and penne pasta cooking.

Kessen took it upon herself to locate some wine while Christian went to work on the food. She found an old bottle of port and poured a small glass for each of them. “Is it done yet?”

“Does it look like it’s done yet?” he countered.

“No.”

“Then no, it’s not done yet.”

“You obviously need to do something about your blood sugar levels. You’re like a bear when you don’t eat.”

She swallowed another sip of port and smiled sweetly as he scowled in her direction, then mumbled something under his breath that sounded a lot like, “Insufferable women who talk too much.”

“Let’s bring the game in here!” she said, changing the subject entirely.

“What?” he asked.

“The game. Let’s bring it in here to play while we cook.”

He eyed her suspiciously, and then nodded. “Okay, go ahead. But no looking at the answers when you bring the board in. I don’t like cheaters.”

“Funny. I thought it would be the only way you could win anything.” She blew him a kiss and trotted off, but not before she felt a wooden spoon hit the back of her leg on her way out. Served her right for mocking him. Apparently, she was rubbing off on the almost duke, who was now resorting to throwing objects at her. Oddly, the thought made her smile.

She returned half a minute later with the little trivia game the boys had set up for them. It discussed embarrassing moments; puberty—that she didn’t want to know about—first kisses, favorite colors, and scariest adventures, et cetera. They had obviously outdone themselves.

Christian was already pouring the sauce over the noodles when she got back. The aroma alone nearly did her in, and she was positively ravenous.

“Is it done now?” she pleaded.

He smiled. “Yes, America. It’s done. Now, sit still; you’re making your food nervous.”

“My food? Nervous?”

He rolled his eyes. “When you’re not talking, you’re moving. When you’re not moving, you’re talking. It’s quite distracting. Remember when I talked about just being?”

She nodded her head, not at all sure she liked where he was going with this particular topic of conversation.