Chapter 10

My endless tremblingcaused the few pans I'd found in the cabinet next to the stovetop to clang together. I instantly froze, waiting for that squeak of his door and the footsteps that would follow. I sighed in relief when there was only silence, then carefully put the two pans on the stovetop but didn't turn the burners on. I stared at the scratched-up pans but quickly got lost in the memory of what I'd spent the last twenty-four hours trying to forget.

I shook my head to clear out the image of my release all over Dalton's muscles. Thankfully, I'd had the sense to retrieve my own clothes from Dalton's SUV the day before and after a little bit of experimenting, I'd gotten the small dryer tucked away in one of the closets near the bathroom going. My clothes had come out warm and relatively clean despite the fact that I hadn't washed them. The washing machine had been too complicated for me to figure out, so it had been impossible to wash Dalton's sweats to eliminate all the proof that what had happened the day before was real. It was one thing to ruin my own clothes in an attempt to dry them, but the last thing I wanted was to mess up Dalton's sweats.

Liar.

I shook off the voice in my head because the idea that I'd held off on washing the man's sweats just so I could stare at the damp spots, feel them, smell them, was ridiculous.

"Morning."

I jumped at the sound of Dalton's voice. My heart was running a mile a minute as I turned to look at him. He was leaning against the entryway to the kitchen. His hair was damp, and he was wearing a pair of jeans and a button-down blue shirt.

"I didn't hear you," I blurted.

Nice opening, Silver.

I ignored the self-directed insult and stupidly looked down at Dalton's shoes as if they could explain why I hadn't heard his approach.

His feet were bare… and I couldn't stop looking at them.

What the hell is wrong with me?

"Sorry," Dalton responded. His voice sounded normal. Not angry, not ashamed, not confused. I jerked my eyes up.

"Are you hungry? I was going to make you bacon and eggs," I said quickly as I hurried to the refrigerator and began collecting all the ingredients I would need. "I don't really know how to cook anything else. There was this morning when Ivan was having one of his moments and wanted me to fix him some breakfast instead of the chef."

I was on autopilot as I began heating up the pans.

Unfortunately, so was my mouth despite all the warning bells in my head telling it to shut the hell up.

"I don't even know how I did it. It just kind of came to me when I saw the ingredients in the fridge. I was freaking out that Ivan wouldn't like the dish, but he ended up loving it. He made me cook it for him every morning after?—"

And just like that, the nerves were gone and all I felt was cold. I focused on the now cooking food as if my life depended on it. At one time, it had felt like it had.

I shook my head. The past was the past.

The sound of a chair being moved just behind me and then creaking as a heavy weight settled into it brought me back to reality. I quickly flipped the bacon so it wouldn't burn and began fluffing the eggs with a fork and adding salt and pepper to them.

"Did you know the bacon we have isn't the same as yours? Yours is greasier but it tastes better. Ivan had it flown in since there weren't many local places that sold it, I guess. Maybe they did but I never went to the store. Ivan's men did that. I never got to eat much of it but over the last few years, Ivan made me taste all of his food before he ate it. He was sure that someone was trying to poison—" I fell silent as I realized I'd done it again. I'd gone off on another tangent. Thankfully, the food was done, so I had the excuse of needing to remain silent as I prepared Dalton's plate. Since I hadn't had a clue as to how much Dalton ate, I'd made a huge portion like Ivan would have wanted.

"Fuck," I muttered under my breath. Why did that asshole keep invading my thoughts? He was dead and gone. The past was buried six feet under just like him.

I collected myself as I grabbed some silverware and a piece of paper towel along with the plate of food and turned. I was glad to see that Dalton had moved the chair back to the opposite side of the table so that the table was once again between us. I forced my feet to move and within a handful of steps, I was there.

Standing next to Dalton.

I could smell the woodsy scent of his cologne or shampoo or whatever it was. It reminded me of his sweats.

The ones I'd kept staring at where I'd thrown them over the foot of the bed as I'd tried to sleep.

"It looks delicious. Thank you," I heard Dalton say. Thankfully, my brain had switched over to autopilot because I'd laid out his plate and silverware exactly how Ivan had liked it. I'd even folded the paper towel in half so it would be more like a napkin.

But there was one thing missing.

"I, um… I didn't know how to make coffee, but you have orange juice in your fridge," I murmured as I waited for the verbal or physical response to happen.

"Juice is fine. I'll get it. Why don't you have a seat?" Dalton said and then he was up and moving past me. I could tell he was moving a little easier today than he had been when we'd arrived at his house two nights before. The faint smell of alcohol and mint drifted over me as he passed me.

The knowledge that he'd had enough alcohol that not even toothpaste could mask it made me nervous, so I automatically went to sit down in the chair opposite him. As he moved about the kitchen, his body still stiff but clearly less pained, I wondered how many pills he'd taken when he'd woken up. I'd yet to see what his waking mood was like after he consumed both things. The previous morning when I'd woken him from his nightmare, I hadn't smelled any alcohol on him and sure as hell hadn't tasted it when our tongues had been sliding against one another as we'd kissed just a short time later.

I could feel myself starting to overheat as images of the event began to bombard me.

"Is that enough?" Dalton asked.

Once again, his smooth voice brought me back to the present and all my senses immediately went on high alert.

"What?" I practically barked as I looked up at him. When had he moved to stand next to me and why was he holding his plate of food in his hand? Did he want me to taste it first like Ivan wanted?

"I asked if that's enough or if you want more," Dalton responded calmly.

I hated that.

I hated knowing his insides weren't turning upside down. I hated that I couldn't read what he was thinking. I hated that I knew he wasn't going to lean down to kiss me in greeting like Jace did to Caleb whenever they were apart, even if only for a few minutes.

"The food, Silver," Dalton said. I watched his hand with the fork in it move downward. It wasn't until he tapped on the edge of the plate that had somehow appeared in front of me that realization dawned. I didn't have just a plate; I had a whole place setting that mirrored Dalton's, right down to the same amount of scrambled eggs and crispy bacon.

He was sharing his food with me.

My brain warred with itself as I tried to make sense of what was happening. Why would he share his food with me? Ivan never did that. I ate when Ivan told me I could, and that was usually just the cold leftovers that his chef would have thrown away because Ivan only liked freshly made food.

Maybe all this was some kind of test or something.

"I… I don't need so much to test it for you," I explained. "I tasted the eggs to make sure I got them right while I was cooking them but if you didn't see that, I can take a quick bite of them again and cut off a small piece of the bacon. I didn't try the juice, but I can."

The man looked like I'd grown two heads. I quickly reached for the glass of juice in front of me, but Dalton's hand shot out just as fast and gently grabbed my wrist.

"I want you to eat the food if you're hungry. If you already ate enough or aren't hungry, then you don't have to eat. It's completely up to you," Dalton said, his voice once again unreadable. He moved back to his side of the table.

Dalton speared his fork into the eggs and put them in his mouth. I held my breath until he closed his eyes and said something I couldn't understand. He quickly took another bite of the eggs and then grabbed a piece of bacon with his free hand and took a bite.

"Delicious," he said between mouthfuls.

The breath I'd been holding came rushing out and the cramping in my stomach eased. I looked down at the pile of food in front of me. There was no way I'd be able to eat it all, but a low growl in my belly reminded me that there was definitely enough room for some of it. I'd only eaten a few slices of bread and an apple since we'd arrived at Dalton's house, and that had been an experience in itself. The apple had tasted wonderfully sweet and though I hadn't remembered ever having one at Ivan's before, I'd not only known what the fruit had been called, but I'd had enough sense not to eat the middle of the apple where the seeds were. How was that even possible? Surely someone who'd never eaten an apple would take at least one bite of the middle before spitting out the dark seeds?

Now, I ate slowly because I couldn't stop looking up at Dalton every few seconds to see if he was still eating. His plate was empty before I'd eaten even five bites of the eggs, which I had to admit did taste really good.

"Did you want some more?" I asked quickly. I lifted up my plate to hand to him so he could take as much food as he wanted. "I could also make some fresh?—"

Dalton gently pushed my plate back toward me. "If I eat another bite, I won't fit through any of the doors in this house."

I didn't realize he was joking with me until he got up from the table and took his plate to the sink. I heard the water running and realized he was washing his plate and silverware.

The food in front of me beckoned, so I began eating again. I couldn't tell if my stomach was welcoming the food or protesting it. I felt sick to my stomach, but I also had the urge to keep eating.

I actually forgot Dalton's presence until he sat back down in his chair, a cup of coffee in his hand. "Did you want a cup?" he asked. It all felt so… domestic.

It wasn't until the smell from Dalton's cup of coffee hit me that I felt a sharp stab of pain in my brain right before seeing a flash of several kids sitting around a table along with a few adults who were passing a coffee pot around. The pain and image were gone as quickly as they'd come. I tried to bring it back so I could see if I remembered any faces or whether the people had been sad or happy or angry?—

"Silver?"

"No," I said with a shake of my head. "I like water," I managed to tell him.

"Where did you go just now?" Dalton asked.

"What?" I responded in surprise.

"After I asked you if you wanted a cup of coffee, you went somewhere. Up here," he said as he tapped his fingers against his temple.

I shook my head again. "Nowhere. It was nothing." I knew I was contradicting myself, so I did what I did best and kept my eyes down and dealt with the task in front of me. All my hunger had fled, so the little bit of food I managed to get on my fork now tasted like sawdust.

I jumped when Dalton leaned across the table, but all he did was push the glass of orange juice closer to me. Next to it was a full glass of water. How had that gotten there?

I knew I should just tell him I wasn't thirsty and not take a drink from either glass, but I couldn't find the courage to say a thing. I automatically reached for the glass of juice because that was what the man had indicated I should do. The drink was too sweet for me, so I only took a few sips. I wanted to grab the water to wash away the sweetness, but I wanted to escape Dalton's presence even more, so I climbed to my feet.

"Silver—"

His voice had me flinching again, but I managed to cover it by grabbing my dishes and taking them to the sink. I carefully put the remaining eggs and bacon on a small plate and placed a paper towel over it before putting it in the fridge. It wasn't until I reached the sink that I ran into my next problem.

Since he had no dishwasher, I needed to clean the dishes by hand, but there were two different kinds of soap and no sponge. The mounting humiliation made my hands shake. I piled the pans I'd used for cooking and put them in the sink. A quick glance over my shoulder showed that Dalton's dishes were gone, so I could only assume he'd dried and put them away while I'd been sorting through the fog that had taken over my mind from the moment the man and his bare feet had stepped into the room.

I started running the water, then took a chance and filled my hands with one of the soaps and began using it to wash the dishes. I pretended to be hard at work even though I'd done nothing more than cover all the dishes in what I now suspected was the liquid meant to wash hands. My salvation came when I heard Dalton's chair slide back. I let out a huge breath, then another. The knowledge that he was leaving the room had relief sweeping through my body until my limbs felt like noodles.

It only lasted until I heard the floor directly behind me creak and felt a presence at my back.

"Step back for a minute," Dalton said, his voice all rumbly.

Stepping back meant I'd be flush against his body.

I knew why he was really telling me to take that step backward. After all, it was what he'd agreed to pay me for. Tears stung the backs of my eyes as I took a step backward. I tried to shut my mind down, but the heat that Dalton's body was giving off even though we weren't actually touching enveloped me like the softest of blankets. My traitorous mind shifted back to the previous day when my dick had come into contact with his hot skin for the first time.

The pleasurable memory dissolved the second Dalton's big hand settled on my stomach and murmured, "Just a little more."

I bit down hard on my lower lip before putting my hands on the edge of the countertop, one on each side of the small sink. Hopefully, they'd give me the leverage I'd need to withstand Dalton's powerful thrusts until he was finished.

I silently cursed the tears that stung the backs of my eyes when Dalton's hand began to move. I suddenly wished I'd left the sweats on. It would have made this whole thing go by more quickly.

I waited for the sound of my zipper being drawn down but instead I heard a different sound that I couldn't process. I forced myself to look down between my body and the edge of the counter. I let out a ragged breath when I realized Dalton hadn't been going for the release on my pants at all… he'd been trying to open a flip drawer in front of the sink. I'd just assumed it was regular paneling that was a part of the cabinetry. Humiliation filled me as my eyes fell on several different tools used to wash dishes, including a scrubbing sponge.

"Either of the soaps will work, but this one"—Dalton pointed to the soap I hadn't been using— "will work better because it rinses cleaner. I use the other one to wash my hands when they get greasy from working on my girl." His voice was devoid of any emotion.

As my sluggish brain tried to process what he was saying, Dalton pushed away from me. His left hand appeared next to the hand I still had curled around the countertop. He dropped a wad of cash next to it. I felt sick at the sight of it. I felt even more sick when Dalton stepped away from me completely. From my periphery I could see he was heading toward the front door, cup of coffee in hand.

"Get your stuff together. I'll take you to the bus station in a few," he said over his shoulder, his voice holding only a sliver of emotion now.

Anger.

He sounded angry.

I had a perfect view of him as he crossed in front of the window that overlooked the steps leading down to the lake where a big boat was bobbing gently against a long dock. My interest was in the man more than the boat. Dalton's shuffle was back in full force. It took him an achingly long time to reach the dock and when he climbed over the side of boat, I could practically feel the pain as if it were sliding down my own spine. I glanced at the stack of bills on the counter next to my hand and felt bile creep up the back of my throat. I knew it was all there—the two hundred dollars he'd agreed to pay me in exchange for the use of my body.

Except he hadn't used my body. I'd used his and instead of turning the tables on me, he'd not only shown me how to take pleasure from his body, he'd also helped me do it.

Now he wanted me to leave. None of it made any sense.

None at all.