Free Some Like It Sinful (Hellion's Den) by Alexandra Ivy Page A

Although the lack of prickling awareness assured her that her kidnapper was nowhere near, she was too hungry to indulge in any immediate prying.
    First things first, she told herself briskly. First luncheon and then a spot of snooping.
    Like the rest of the house, the kitchen was narrow and without more than the basic necessities. There was, however, a nicely stocked pantry, and rolling up her sleeves, Clara soon found herself happily distracted in the pleasure of kneading dough and slicing vegetables.
    Two hours swiftly passed, and removing the apple tarts from the oven, Clara was in the process of determining whether her shepherd’s pie was in need of another few moments when a harsh voice suddenly rasped behind her.
    “What the devil are you doing?”
    With a startled squeak Clara spun about to glare into the dark, impossibly handsome countenance.
    “Sir, you nearly made my heart fail,” she chastised, attempting to keep her gaze focused upon the glittering blue gaze. Not an easy task when she longed to fully appreciate the exotic beauty of his male features and the long raven hair that was pulled to a tail at the nape of his neck. Attired entirely in black with the diamond flashing with cold brilliance upon his ear, he appeared a dangerous, elegant predator. Even more unnerving was the smoldering power that seemed to overwhelm the cramped space. It was rather like being caged with a stalking panther, she inanely concluded. “Do not sneak up on me in such a fashion.”
    Not at all put off by her scolding, her captor folded his arms over his chest.
    “I asked you a question.”
    She gave a pointed glance about the kitchen. “One I assumed needed no reply considering it is perfectly obvious what I am doing.”
    “I did not bring you here to play servant. Where the hell . . . blazes is Dillon?”
    Clara frowned, not quite certain why he appeared so irate. Of course, she often wondered why those about her seemed irate, she acknowledged with a faint sigh. She possessed a rare talent to annoy without even trying.
    “I am not playing servant and I have no notion where Dillon is,” she retorted tartly. “Hopefully he is out purchasing proper beeswax so that he may polish the furniture, which does not seem to have had a good waxing for some time.”
    He ignored her pointed comment with his usual arrogance. “If you were hungry, he would have made you something. In fact, I commanded him to do so.”
    “He did offer, but I prefer to make my own meals. Cooking is a particular hobby of mine.”
    “Hobby? Proper ladies do not consider cooking as a hobby.”
    “This proper lady does.”
    He continued to glare at her for a long moment until at last his lips began to twitch with that humor she found so disarming.
    “Very well, Miss Dawson. I will have to admit I have never smelled anything so delicious coming from the hands of Dillon, although I will throttle you if you dare tell him I said so. He is rather proud of his dubious skills,” he murmured, stepping around her to pull open the oven door. “Ah, shepherd’s pie, my favorite. I hope you intend to share your efforts?”
    Clara refused to acknowledge she might be pleased by his obvious flattery. Or to even consider the notion that she might have gone to such effort to impress this wicked pirate.
    That would make her . . . well, nothing short of pathetic.
    Instead she forced herself to meet the teasing gaze with a stern expression.
    “I might be convinced.”
    “Ah . . .” A worrisome smile curved his mouth as he straightened and moved toward her. Too late Clara recognized the dangerous glow in his eyes and hastily backed away. She did not halt until she had bumped into the wooden counter, but even then he continued forward until he was nearly pressed against her. Without warning his hands landed on the counter on either side of her hips, effectively trapping her. “What will it take, my kitten?” he husked softly, his gaze slowly sliding over her pale features.