The Darkness in Dreams (Enforcer's Legacy, #1)(60)

“I’ve considered it,” she admitted, “but I knew it would be wrong.”

“You would live with night terrors?”

Lexi looked at him, her gaze direct. “I would try to live with courage, maybe not successfully, but it feels like cowardice to refuse to face your life.” A lesson learned sitting on a shadowed porch for three hours, clutching a stuffed bear named Waldo, wondering if she had a home.

Christan asked, “Have you ever received mail at that email address you check?”

The question startled her, perhaps too much. Lexi turned and walked to the French doors, staring out at the velvet night. Once again, her loneliness was palpable.

“No.”

And Christan knew, then, that what he wanted was for this woman—the woman she was now—to need him. And perhaps there was no fucking way that would ever happen.





CHAPTER 24





“Have you eaten?” Lexi asked, her back still toward him.

“No.”

“I could cook.” The offer slipped out. Lexi wasn’t sure why, other than she sensed his pain and wanted to offer comfort. Christan hesitated.

“Is there time for a shower? When I’m done, I’ll help.”

Lexi turned from the French doors and studied his face. Eyes dark as obsidian rimmed with shards of silver glittered like a midnight sky. “What do you like to eat?”

Christan shrugged. “I don’t understand the modern foods that come from a box.”

Neither did she, most of the time. Lexi bent to open the refrigerator. Light from the interior speared across the counter. The room had grown dark, and she hadn’t noticed.

“What were your favorite foods from before?” she asked, removing the fresh ingredients Giam sent over.

“I used to like oranges and sitting in the sun,” he said, the deep sound of his voice mesmerizing. “What about you?”

“I enjoy cooking.” Lexi flipped on a small overhead kitchen light and the sense of sharp caution smoothed away. “It’s hard to be creative when you’re cooking for one.”

“You must have some guilty pleasures.”

“Chocolate at night. Coffee in the morning.”

“You’ll find plenty of that in Florence.” Christan glanced over her shoulder. “Do you need me to open that second bottle of wine?”

“Um… no, I can manage.” Lexi wasn’t sure what she’d heard in his offer. She picked up a knife, sliced the fresh mushrooms. Tried to ignore the growing intimacy in the kitchen. When she turned to retrieve a wedge of cheese from the counter, she was startled by what she saw in his eyes.

“Should I go then?” he asked.

Lexi studied the cheese with unexpected intensity. “If you’re going to help cook, then you should probably go shower.”

“Shower,” he repeated. Lexi thought there was something begging to be rewritten in the tone of his voice. Her throat grew too tight to speak, so she nodded. Yes.

Christan considered her for a moment longer before he disappeared. When Lexi heard the sound of water, an image of him standing bronzed and naked and wet seared through her mind. With a total loss of breath, she set a pot of water on the stove and added a drop of olive oil to keep the pasta from sticking. She turned on the gas burner and watched the blue flame puff into existence, trying not to think about the dark lightning she had recognized in his eyes.

With an abrupt shiver, Lexi forced herself to focus. She grated the cheese into a mountain on the plate and sliced tomatoes until they bled, then paused long enough to stare through the window for the evening stars. It was a pointless ritual, one she practiced every night. She would stop what she was doing and glance up, feeling incomplete if she didn’t do it. They were just stars, the first five she saw winking in the darkening sky. Even if there were clouds—and it was always cloudy on the coast—she would stand and wait, stiff from the cold until something moved in the sky and she could see a brief winking of light. She didn’t know why she did it, hadn’t even questioned it until now, as she remembered Christan’s deep voice repeating the five words she always whispered: faith, strength, vision, courage, and love. How he knew those words she didn’t know. But he did. And he’d spoken them in Italian.

He came up behind her on silent feet, dressed again in jeans and a shirt, but barefoot. His hair was damp. Warm arms circled from behind. He braced his palms against the counter and something profound uncurled in the pit of her stomach. It was hunger. Lexi recognized it as something she’d felt centuries ago. For this man.

“What are we cooking?” he asked, his mouth close to her ear, the rough caress a dangerous snare. Lexi realized she was mashing the tomatoes, and so did he. His fingers slid over hers to remove the knife, set it to the side of the cutting board. With gentle deliberation, he drew his forefinger up over one of the amber memory lines and Lexi thought of butterfly wings. The remembered scent of sunshine mixed with wild oranges reminded her of forgotten need. Tension sharp and heavy tightened her lower abdomen and her heart beat with a growing awareness. Recognition. With a little sound of resistance, she turned. Her hands were tight against her chest as if that could keep him from touching her.

“What are we doing, Christan?” she whispered.

“Cooking.”