The Crystal Moon Curse: Book 2: TAMED

13. Turning Tables

EVA

I pad down the hall after Dante the delicious aroma pulling me like the pied Piper until I plop myself unceremoniously on a stool at the breakfast bar.

Dante moves effortlessly in the kitchen, plating two massive rib eyes, setting one in front of me and a bowl of salad between us.

He places a jug of water and two glasses on the bench before straddling the seat next to me and beginning to eat without a word.

Taking his cue I take the fork and knife with a tentative cut I pick up a slice of perfectly done medium rare rib-eye, I'm almost drooling by the time I place it in my mouth, and close my eyes groaning aloud as perfectly seasoned juices glide silkily across my taste buds in a burst of flavor.

He may be an asshole who broke my heart and shattered my dreams but Dante sure can cook, and because I love my food I spend the next half hour slowly and silently devouring the massive piece leaving only the small bone on my plate.

Dante finished well before me and I purposely ignore his blatant staring as I clear my plate.

When I'm done, I lean back and take a deep breath. Thank goddess I wore leggings, I probably would have popped a button if I was wearing jeans.

"Where'd it all go?" Dante mumbles surprised.

"What? I was hungry and rib-eye is my favorite, don't judge."

I'm almost blinded by a beaming smile that lights up his face, crinkling the corners of his eyes.

"No judgment here, I like a wolf with an appetite." He leans over to pick up my plate, and I stop him accidentally brushing his hand then let go quickly as delicious sparks run up my arm.

His smile falls and a shadow crosses his face.

"Um, let me wash up since you cooked." I say quickly hopping off the stool grabbing the plates and heading to the sink.

I move quickly and quietly cleaning up while Dante puts a kettle on to boil, pulling out a teapot and two cups.

He silently shows me two boxes of tea, plain and chamomile.

"Chamomile please." I almost whisper.

It almost feels like both of us are afraid to break the peaceful silence we've been able to exist in over dinner. It seems we've both put our issues on a back burner for a bit which I have to admit makes this awkward domesticity easier to handle. That and rage is physically and mentally exhausting, the break is nice.

The bench top wiped down, I re-seat myself as Dante pours the hot water into the teapot with two bags of chamomile brewing.

I refuse to admit that I'm impressed he knows how to make tea properly. The delicate pot looks like a child's toy in his hands as he sets it between us.

"Thanks," I say letting the tea brew for a minute longer.

"And thanks for dinner, you didn't have to, especially after today." I gesture behind me to his re-decorated living room.

"Consider it an apology for your lousy welcome." He replies and pours the tea for us both.

With a sigh he takes a sip then sets his cup down turning his body toward me and I focus my gaze into my tea so my traitorous eyes won't caress his large denim clad thighs.

"Eva, we need to talk."

Dammit. There goes the peace.

I put my cup down after a quick sip and turn to face him, setting my shoulders.