Ruthless King

As soon as the smell of curry hit her, her mouth started salivating. But what was in the other bag? Naan bread?

She followed Regent through the house to the kitchen, where he laid out the food containers. Then, he drew out several packets of batteries from the other bag.

Jilly bit her lip. “I could have bought the batteries.”

“When?”

“Um, tomorrow?” she asked, confused by the question.

“And where did you plan to sleep tonight?”

“Um, here?” What was he getting at?

That cool gaze hit her hard and she gulped, feeling as though she should apologize but unsure what she was supposed to be apologizing for.

“You were going to sleep here with smoke alarms that don’t work?” he asked.

“Well, I’ve slept here just fine for the last few months without smoke alarms. What are the odds that something would happen tonight?”

And that was the wrong thing to say, which she realized as soon as he stepped toward her.

She stepped back.

Danger. Danger.

“I mean, thanks for the batteries for my smoke alarms,” she squeaked out. “I feel so much safer.”

“That’s the correct response. Good girl.”

Yikes. This man. Sometimes, he could be truly terrifying.

Actually, always. He was always terrifying.

“Now, it’s time to eat.”

They settled in at her old table, which needed a piece of cardboard under one leg so it didn’t wobble, and ate curry.

“This wasn’t exactly what I had planned,” she said as she moved her food around the plate.

Jilly was disappointed in herself. How hard was it to cook a roast? And now all that food was wasted simply because she wasn’t capable of focusing on a task for more than five minutes.

Perhaps Margaret was right. She was useless. A crappy librarian and a crappier cook. Lowell used to complain all the time about her lack of skills in the kitchen.

“I’m really sorry about tonight,” she muttered.

“Jilly, look at me.”

She glanced up at him, expecting to find irritation in his eyes. Instead, he simply gave her a gentle, understanding look.

“Just because it’s not how you imagined it going, doesn’t automatically mean that it’s a bad night.”

“You had to get one of your men to bring us dinner. And batteries. You spent most of the night cleaning out my kitchen. I’m supposed to be thanking you, but I created work for you instead.”

“I guess this means you owe me another dinner.”

“But I can’t cook!” she wailed.

Did his lips just twitch? She was sure they had.