Free Hell Bent by Emma Fawkes Page A

very good.
    The senator’s visit forgotten, I set about cooking for the man who is now in my life.

Chapter Twelve
Bryce
    S usie is not a fool ; however, she is a target. Her reactions are entirely predictable, and that makes it easy to anticipate what she will do next. Women like the senator recognize this; it’s in their predator blood. I’m going to make sure it’s her undoing.
    I don’t fully understand the nature of the hold that Milly has over Susie, and although I don’t think it’s calculated, Susie is protecting her friend ferociously. There has to be a reason for this, and I need to get to the bottom of it. I can’t protect her if I don’t have all the facts. The senator appears to know more about this than I do. I remember her words about Milly’s disease, whatever it is, so this is where I will begin.
    Susie is making dinner, and the smell of the beef broiling in her small apartment oven is making my mouth water. Who could imagine I would feel such desire over the image of a perky cream-puff simply going through the motions of preparing food? Just watching her move feeds me—the way her hips shift when she moves from the sink to the stove, the way she leans forward to check on the steaks, making her breasts fall against the fabric of that soft pink shirt she is wearing.
    This is the first time I am seeing her in anything pastel, and it emphasizes the brown of her beautiful eyes. They are eyes of compassion, of empathy, and they reveal something in her past that is haunting her.
    I fight the impulse to come up behind her and cup those beautiful breasts, pulling her against me, but I’m fairly sure it will be my undoing. No matter how I touch her, she seems to fit like a puzzle piece against me.
    I don’t want to curb her spirit—it is her essence and one of the things I love most. What? What did I just say? I suck in my breath, and the wonderment of the phrase I’ve just used sticks in my brain. I don’t use the word “love” with regard to women other than my mother—and that’s a different sort of love, anyway. What the hell is causing me to think of that word?
    Just then, she turns toward me, holding out a serving dish. “Come and fill your plate,” she says simply, but beaming with pride at cooking for me.
    This is a stirring image and only reinforces the word I used in my mind.

Chapter Thirteen
Susie
    W hy is he watching me so closely? It’s not really making me feel ‘nervous,’ but more like excited. So this is what it feels like to have a man to look after? I sort of like this…no…not ‘sort of’…I like this a lot!
    Luckily, this is probably the first time in my life that I am not burning the steaks. Is this some kind of omen? Why am I thinking like this? I feel all mushy and feminine…
    I am still holding the plate out to him, and he is coming toward me, smiling and looking directly into my eyes. He is supposed to be looking at the food, isn’t he? Why do I feel so awkward?
    He takes the plate, letting his fingers linger on the palm of my hand, and I feel a chill down my spine. The kind of chill that makes you want to huddle into warm, strong arms.
    We settle to eat, and it seems like everything we say has a double entendre. “The meat is cooked perfectly”, “How do you take yours?”, “Would you like some dessert?” I suddenly realize that food is part of the mating ritual, the part that goes right over the head of the kids, but sparks an exchange of looks and nods that forge a path for the nighttime assignation. They say food is the language of love, and they don’t mean Grandma’s cinnamon rolls.
    We are now full, and I am lingering as long as possible over the dishes. I’m wiping the top of the stove when I feel a warmth and energy behind me. I freeze. The feeling is unfamiliar, and I am like a doe that believes the hunter spots her.
    Bryce’s hands are positioned one upon each of my hips. His fingers splay slowly open, covering the cheeks of my behind with