Gift From The Bad Boy

“Two weeks.”

“Two weeks?” I exclaimed. “Good God, do men just secrete disgusting messes and empty boxes of takeout Chinese, or did you buy all that pre-fab?” He looked even more confused and upset. I laughed. Who would have thought that it’d be so easy to get the infamously cool under pressure Ben Killmore to fluster? “Never mind,” I said, rescuing him from the need to come up with any kind of reasonable response to such a commonplace domestic activity. “I’m almost done anyway.”

“Okay.” He turned to walk away, but paused. “What’s that smell?” he asked, sniffing the air.

“That would be dinner,” I deadpanned. “Jay took me to a cooking supplies store today, so I bought a crock pot. I’m not that great of a cook, but those things make it easy for anyone. I bet even you could make something halfway decent.”

He was slowly coming back down to earth after the surprise and confusion I’d apparently inflicted upon him in droves. “That would be a losing bet, I’m afraid. My best dish is cereal.”

“Cereal? That’s it?”

“Well, I make a mean piece of toast, too.”

“Very impressive, Chef Killmore.”

“That’s Mister Chef Killmore to you.”

“Is that how those titles go?”

“My kitchen, my titles.” He smirked.

I giggled. “Yes, sir. Anything in particular I should know about your highness’s palate?”

“Yes,” he said with utmost seriousness, suppressing a playful grin beneath his scowl. “All meats must be hunted and killed by hand. Vegetables are to be home grown and skinned with a straight razor, none of this vegetable peeler nonsense.”

“Do you even know what a vegetable peeler looks like?”

“I wouldn’t be able to point one out if you stabbed me in the face with it.”

I laughed again. “I didn’t think so.” My knees were starting to ache from being pressed against the tile floor of the kitchen. I reached up and planted a hand on the counter to steady myself as I started to rise to my feet, groaning. I’d been crouched over for so long that my right leg was completely numb, and the second I tried to put weight on it, it nearly gave out under me.

Ben saw me beginning to tumble and rushed over immediately, catching me by the crook of my elbow and keeping me upright. “Easy, tiger,” he said. “That first step’s a doozy.”

I blushed. It was fun bantering with him, but I didn’t like to look like such a weakling in his presence, as if I couldn’t even stand up without his assistance. I needed to prove to him that I was perfectly capable of handling my own business, that I wasn’t some whimpering little girl who required doors to be opened and seats to be pulled out for me. My daddy may have been a bastard, but he hadn’t raised a weak daughter, and I was determined to show that to Ben.

Still, it was hard to complain about the gentle pressure of his hand on the bare skin of my arm. He’d hardly touched me since the wedding, but the simplest flesh-on-flesh contact sent a weird mix of heat and shivers racing through me. I smiled uneasily. “I’m okay,” I said. “Besides, none of this would have happened if you didn’t seem so determined to spill what looks like duck sauce all over the front of your oven.”

“It’s soy, I think, but point taken.” He let his hand drop away.

I bit my lip and tried not to miss it too much. I pulled off my gloves one at a time, flexing the cramps out of my hands as they emerged from the sweaty rubber. Stacking them one on top of the other, I slapped both across his chest. “Now, go wash up,” I demanded. “You’re all sweaty and gross.”

“That’s man scent, baby.”

I wrinkled my nose. “Definitely gross.”

He chuckled as he turned and headed for the bedroom. Just before he crossed the threshold, he paused once more and craned his neck back into the living room to look at me incredulously. “Is that a plant I see?”

“Yes, and you’re going to be in charge of watering it.”

“That’s an awful lot of responsibility.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be the president or something?” I retorted.

“Yeah, but that was an accident,” he called jokingly over his shoulder as he peeled off his shirt and walked through the door into the bedroom. “The reason I got the job was because I was the only bastard dumb enough to take it.”

I stared longingly at the taut muscles of his back before he disappeared. The way the ink roiled with every little motion he made, the confident slope of his shoulders…I shivered again. I could still see the tiny imprints of his fingertips on my arm. I didn’t want to admit it, but Ben Killmore was chipping away at my defenses. I gulped. Stay strong, Carmen, I ordered myself. You’re here, but you’re not his.