6. Kray

6

KRAY

A s soon a Cleo’s out the door, I head to the kitchen. I love to cook, and my mother’s Italian meatball recipe is my favorite. I went to the supermarket earlier to pick up the ingredients, banking on Cleo agreeing to eat with me.

I get to work on the sauce. It takes a few hours to really marinate to get the flavors, so I leave it bubbling on the stove top while I pull out the other things I picked up from the shops.

It was the only Christmas tree I could find this close to Christmas. It’s a small artificial one, but this apartment’s bare. I love my brother’s low-key ascetic taste, but sometimes you want a bit of color, a bit of festiveness. And I get the feeling Cleo could do with some festivity in her life.

Cleo’s got this tough-girl persona, but I wonder what it’s hiding. I want to spoil Cleo with good homemade food, wrap her in my arms, and tell her that whatever it is, she’s got me now. But I get the feeling she’d run a mile if I told her how I feel, that she’s mine and I’ll always look after her.

I need to take it slow. I need to build up her trust, and we need to get to know each other. I have to let her realize we’re meant to be together the way I know it in my heart.

It’s a few hours later when I hear the door open. I can feel the cold air from here as it blasts into the apartment. Then I hear Cleo’s intake of breath as she sees the decorations. I smile to myself. It’s exactly the reaction I wanted.

I strung a row of fairy lights from the front entrance all the way into the living room. She comes around the corner and drops her purse by the couch.

“What’s all this?” she asks, taking in the tree with ornaments and lights.

“Thought I’d make the place more Christmassy since we’ll be spending Christmas here.”

She eyes me suspiciously, but there’s a sparkle in her eyes and I can tell she’s pleased.

“I thought you were driving back soon?”

I shrug. “The bike needs some repairs and that snowstorm…” We both look out the window because the clouds keep getting lower and darker but never seem to burst. Not that we can see them now. It’s after dark and all we see are the lights of the town and the decorations from the square twinkling in the darkness.

“Do you drink red or white wine?”

I move into the kitchen and grab two wine glasses from the cupboard. She leans her elbows on the kitchen counter and watches me.

“Red.”

“Red it is.” I pour two glasses, and she sips hers tentatively. Her dark red lipstick comes off on the glass, leaving a lip-shaped smudge.

My gaze lingers on the imprint of her lips, making my cock twitch. I can imagine Cleo on her knees with those red lips wrapped around my cock.

Fuck. I need to clear my head, or I’ll blow my chance with her.

Cleo leans over the pot, her eyes half closed, inhaling the scent of the sauce. Her top falls open, exposing tightly pressed cleavage—two soft, enticing pillows.

“You made this yourself?” Cleo asks, unaware of the devious thoughts running through my mind.

“Ah-ha.” My words come out strangled, and I have to walk away to compose myself and adjust the hard-on in my jeans.

“It smells good.”

Which is about the nicest thing Cleo’s said to me since I arrived.

“My mum’s old recipe,” I manage to say, trying to pull myself together. I take two deep bowls out of the cupboard and set them on the counter. “I’m lucky she taught it to me before the accident”

Cleo doesn’t look surprised, and I gather she knows my family history.

“I’m sorry about your parents,” she says softly.

I have a pang of regret for a moment, as I always do at this time of year, even though it’s been almost fifteen years since they passed. It stays with you, that kind of loss.

“Thank you.”

I want to ask where her family is, but I can already guess if she’s volunteering for a foster charity.

“Do you always spend Christmas by yourself?”

She takes a large swallow of wine. “Yup. I haven’t got any family.”

“I’m sorry.”

Cleo looks away, and for just a moment, her guard comes down. I get a glimpse of the vulnerable girl behind the hard exterior. I reach out, wanting to give her comfort, and my hand closes over hers.

Which is the wrong move. Cleo’s expression closes up, and she pulls her hand away, clasping it around the wine glass as she takes another sip.

“I don’t need your sympathy. It is what it is.”

That statement saddens me even more. I know what it’s like to lose a parent, but at least they were around for my childhood.

Even though Cleo hasn’t told me, I can guess what her situation is. However, it’s clear she doesn’t want to talk about it. If I push her too much, she’ll close up completely.

It’s a big step forward that she’s agreed to have dinner with me. I can’t fuck this up.

“I hope you’re hungry because there’s a lot of food.”

She looks grateful that I’ve changed the topic to a lighter one, and I take the plates to the table and dish out the food.

My brother has a grand dining table that sits eight. I guess it’s for all the dinner parties they throw, but it feels too big for just the two of us.

I set the plates with mine at one end and Cleo next to me. I’ve lit the candles on the table, and with the lights off and just candles and fairy lights on, the only thing missing is music.

I flick my phone on and Iron Maiden comes blaring through the speakers.

Cleo almost chokes on her forkful of food.

“Sorry,” I say, quickly turning it down. “I like listening to music when I cook.”

She arches her eyebrow. “Which album?”

“ Powerslave , of course.”

She nods appreciatively, and we share a knowing look from one fan to another. “One of the best albums of all time in my opinion.”

My girl likes Iron Maiden, even though she probably wasn’t even born when Powerslave came out. I think I just fell in love a little bit more.

We talk about music, keeping the conversation safe. Another glass of wine later and she asks me about Ethan as a kid.

I tell her stories about what it was like growing up along the Sunset Coast.

She laughs when I tell her about the time we got caught stealing parsley from a neighbor’s yard.

“Parsley? Why the hell parsley?’

“Mom was cooking but she’d used up all the parsley from our garden. I said we’d go get her some from the shop, but Ethan convinced me to pocket the money and pick some from the neighbors.”

“Ethan was the instigator?” Cleo sounds surprised, and I pretend to look offended. “What? You think just because I wear a cut that I’m the thief?”

She laughs, and goddamn, it’s the sweetest sound I ever heard.

“No, it’s just that he seems so strait laced.”

It’s my turn to chuckle. “He’d have you believe that, but when we were growing up, he was always the one getting me into trouble.”

I tell her a few more stories, and another hour later the wine is gone and the candles have burned down.

Cleo checks her phone, and her eyes go wide.

“It’s nearly midnight.”

She looks alarmed. I can’t help but laugh.

“What happens at midnight? Do you turn into a pumpkin?”

She shakes her head, looking half exasperated and half amused.

“Some of us have to work in the morning.”

I shrug. “Take the day off. Your boss won’t know.”

She stands up from the table and takes the dishes to the kitchen. “It’s tempting, but you know my boss. He can be a real asshole.”

We both laugh because if there’s one thing Ethan isn’t, it’s an asshole.

I follow Cleo to the kitchen with the empty wineglasses in my hand. She’s slow putting the plates in the sink. The wine must be getting to her head.

When she turns around, we’re so close I can smell her musky perfume.

Her eyes look up to mine. Damn. She’s a foot shorter than me, and the way she’s looking up with her dark-rimmed eyes makes my chest swell with a need for her.

Her eyes widen at finding me so close, but she doesn’t back away. Her breath hitches and her lips part.

I could kiss her now, smudge what remains of her lipstick right off those plump lips. Her hand closes around my forearm, and I groan at her touch.

Her pupils dilate, and I see my desire reflected in her eyes. This is the moment. This is what I came here for, to kiss Cleo, to claim her and make her mine.

Her lips part, and I smell the sweet wine on her breath. She’s had too much to drink. This isn’t how I want to claim her.

I want her to be fully aware of what she’s doing. I want her to choose me because that’s what she wants, not because she’s feeling tipsy and I just happen to be here.

With all the restraint I can muster, I take Cleo by both arms and kiss the top of her head.

“Good night, Cleo.”

She gazes at me and blinks slowly. There’s disappointment, but something else also flickers across her face. Respect.

I get the feeling I just passed a test, maybe one she didn’t even know she was giving.

“Goodnight, Kray,” she mumbles.

Then she’s out of my arms and heading to her room.

I watch her go, wondering if I’ll get another chance, hoping like hell that the next time I have Cleo in my arms she’ll be stone-cold sober and wanting me as much as I want her.