Fearless (Forever 7)

"Your guess is as good as mine," I said, holding the fork out with trepidation. I'd never eaten a spider's web before, and not knowing what was inside it made me feel almost queasy.

"Okay," he says, "We'll be brave together. On three, got it?"

"Got it."

"One . . . two . . ."

"Three!" I said, and tried to take a bite—only to have the fork sideswipe my cheek.

Jax laughed. "Wait," I said, confused. "How did you see that?"

"See what? I just missed my mouth with the fork and started laughing at myself."

I smiled ruefully. "I can see what the waiter meant about using our hands. But whatever it is, I'm not sure I want to touch it." Thinking for a moment, I had another idea: "Maybe if we're really careful, and feel out where the other person's mouth is, first, we can feed each other."

Jax sounded dubious. "I'm not sure that'll work, but we can give it a try. Just watch out for the eyes, okay?"

I laughed and felt across the table until I found Jax's face. I knew every contour of it, every detail, and as soon as I touched him it was almost like I could see him again. Lingering for a moment with my hand on his cheek, I brought up the bite of spider web, swiping it against his lip, and felt his mouth close around the fork.

I slid the fork away, and he chewed in the darkness. "I . . . huh," he said, after a long pause. "This can't be what I think it is."

"What do you think it is?"

"Try it." All at once, I felt Jax's hand on my face, then the spider web brushing against it, smelling faintly of flowers. There was no time to be squeamish—I bit down on the web.

Instantly, my lips were coated in a sweet, citrusy flavor, followed by a distinct creamy meatiness melting against my tongue. "Oh my god," I said, taking a second bite from the fork in front of me. "What is that?"

The waiter's voice was suddenly nearby. "That is a foie gras medallion enclosed in Earl Grey cotton candy," he said smoothly.

"Almost like a dessert," I whispered. The unexpectedness of the combination was perfect.

"Let me feed the rest of it to you," Jax's voice purred softly, and my lips parted to let the morsel in. Melting, sensuous, the foie gras started to make me feel urges to do things in the dark that we'd gone without for far too long.

The waiter cleared his throat, and I suddenly felt myself blushing. Did the blind waiters' heightened perception apply to my imagination, too? "We have here your entrées," he said. "Be careful, you may wish to eat this with your hands, rather than utensils."

I reached out toward my place setting, and felt dried petals, a whole dried flower, then another and another. Roses? When I moved my fingers further, they brushed more petals—these ones wet and smooth. Jax let out a short laugh of appreciation. "Maybe that's why it happens," he said, sounding bemused.

"Why what happens?"

"Why the dark scares us once we're older. We learn to fear the unknown, to think that it's out to get us somehow." His voice was intense, lost in thought. "It's been a long time since I've had to think of food as an unknown. I think I like this place."

"How do you know so much about food, anyway?"I asked. "I'm assuming it's because rock stars get the royal treatment more often than accountants."

"You want the truth?" He chewed for a moment, then swallowed. "I worked in kitchens when I ran away from home. They were the only place I could get work as a scrawny kid with no ID. I tried to learn everything I could. Especially from this one guy, my friend, who kind of took me under his wing. If he'd had his way, I'd be a chef right now."

His answer wasn't at all what I'd expected—and more than that, I was surprised to hear him talking so freely about his childhood. Was it the darkness that was making him more open? "Why didn't you?"

"Sky, mostly," he admitted quietly. "After we started playing music, she wanted to start a band, and that kind of became my life. I still worked enough at the restaurant to make the money I needed, and I kept learning, but I just couldn't put in the hours to learn what I should to run my own kitchen."

I was glad it was dark so Jax couldn't see how shocked his openness was leaving me. We'd come so far together, but there was still so much I didn't know about him. Maybe this was a sign of his growing trust? My heart warmed at the thought.

I suddenly realized I hadn't eaten a bite of my entrée. Picking up one of the dry roses, I popped it into my mouth, where it dissolved into a crunchy, tangy bitterness. It was fantastic. "Whoa, what are these dry flowers?"

"Pretty sure they're brussels sprouts," Jax said nonchalantly. "Arranged like roses—which is pretty clever. They are flowers, after all."

"Nuh uh," I said, shaking my head even though I knew he couldn't see it. "No way is that a brussels sprout. I've hated brussels sprouts since I was three years old."

"Waiter?" Jax said into the blackness. "What's the flower on our plates?"

"The dry flowers are brussels sprouts, roasted with lemon zest and a jasmine-infused sherry vinegar glaze," he said. "The wet flowers are bison tataki, seared with sesame paste."

"Holy shit," I breathed. "You were right. I liked brussels sprouts and didn't even know it."

"That's the nice thing about the dark," Jax said as I chewed a piece of the bison tataki, savoring the wild flavor. "Sometimes the unknown can surprise you—in a good way."

"Like you," I said, thinking aloud, then quickly put my hand up to my mouth.

"Me?"

"Well, yeah." I bit my lip, still feeling embarrassed by how wrong I'd been about our first impression. "When I was walking to your tour bus, you were an unknown. I figured I'd end up having a sleepless, thankless couple of weeks with an irresponsible, entitled rock star."

"But once you found out we'd already met?"

"To tell you the truth, I thought the same thing."

"And how about now?" Jax's voice was warm, and he stroked soft fingers against my wrist, sending shivers of arousal through my body.

"Now. . ." I thought about what we'd gone through together—the hotel suite in Vegas, the hospital room in California. I took a deep breath to try and steady myself. "Now I can't imagine letting you go."

Jax's hand clasped around mine tightly. "Who said anything about letting go?"