Caridad Piñeiro - Fury Calls

The door to the alley opened and Blake walked back in.

He stopped short as he saw her standing there. “Sorry, love. I didn’t mean to intrude. I just needed to clean up before I left.”

“Go right ahead.”

As Blake walked to the sinks by the pantry, she did as well, pulling off her dirty apron and chef’s jacket and tossing them into the laundry bin.

From the corner of his eye, Blake admired all her curves beneath the loose checkerboard chef’s pants and the small black tank top she wore, reminiscent of what she had worn on the day they had first met. Desire rose and he soaped up and scrubbed his arms and then splashed bracing cold water over his face, hoping to quell the need she would not appreciate.

He was about to reach for a towel, but she was there, handing him one, challenging his control.

“Thanks.”

As he toweled down, he noticed that she had slipped on a tight-fitting denim jacket and loosened her blond hair from the French braid she usually wore while she cooked. She looked so young. A pang of guilt rose up—thanks to him, she would always be that young.

Some women might have liked that, but not Meghan. In the last four years he had come to know that much about her—she feared little. He suspected that was why after her initial reaction to being a vampire, she had settled into immortal life.

With the damp towel, he motioned to the kitchen. “This seems to suit you.”

She crossed her arms and the action plumped up her already generous breasts, dragging his gaze there. Aware of his interest, she immediately changed her pose and said, “It wasn’t quite what I had planned for my life, but I like it.”

He tossed his dirty towel into the laundry bin. “What had you planned on, love?”

“You mean what had my parents planned for me,” she said. Before he could respond, she continued, “Going back home after college. A nine-to-five job somewhere with the requisite husband, house and a few kids.”

“Can you say ‘boring much’?”

Blake hadn’t expected that she would reply, but he sensed her pique as he walked to the pantry, snagged his black leather jacket from a hook on the wall and slipped it on. When he turned, she was so close, he nearly knocked her down.

He took a step back to give her some space, but she advanced on him and poked him in the chest. “So I suppose you had so much more planned for your life. Tell me, Blake. What did you want from life?”

She probably wouldn’t understand, but he gave it a shot. With a long heartfelt sigh, he said, “Just to survive, love. Just to survive.”

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