She shook her head, “Let me help.”
Tristan smiled, “It’s all done. Just needs to be carried.”
He opened the oven and lifted out a large deep casserole dish on a tray. The tray was steaming and she stared dumbfounded at the fact that he wasn’t using oven mitts.
“It’s prime rib with roasted vegetables. Is that good?”
She nodded, feeling her mouth begin to water.
“You could help me set the table?”
She nodded again and then he motioned with his chin toward frosted glass cupboards.
She walked out into the courtyard with plates and cutlery toward a patio table big enough to seat 12, poolside. There were other entrances into the courtyard from this level, too. Kyla put everything down on one end of the table and sat. Tristan had already deposited dinner and was now coming out with a bottle of wine and two glasses.
He looked casual, gorgeous, wearing dark jeans and that wine coloured collared shirt that was loose and the first few buttons undone, the collar pointed up toward his ears. He was barefoot and had a bit more than a 5:00 shadow and it looked so rugged and sexy. He looked like he belonged in a jeans commercial or a cologne ad.
Kyla was keenly aware of how very underwhelming her own attire was. She was in purple capri track pants, a purple and black camouflage patterned racer back tank top, had damp hair, and fluffy chenille striped white and orange socks. Talk about underdressed and a fashion victim! She was sure she was even paler than usual and that her eyes were probably still swollen from crying…she’d done so much of it in the past few days.
She accepted the wine and smiled at him as he started to slice the meat and then served her a piece.
“Mine is quite rare, yours isn’t so much.” He sliced from the end of the roast for her and took a very pink middle piece for himself.
The food was delicious and it was beautiful in the courtyard eating poolside. It was a starry night and the patio lighting gave off a warm soft glow. Kyla was enjoying the much-needed breath of fresh air. She still felt her mind whirling around her circumstances. At least things were on speaking terms with Tristan now. She much preferred when he looked at her with passion than with rage or iciness. Heat pooled in her panties at the thought of passion. She shifted and took a sip of her wine. Tristan was smiling at her.
“What?” she asked, feeling like she was under scrutiny. Did he feel that swish she’d just felt? She hoped that if so that he was enough of a gentleman to keep that to himself.
His smile spread slowly into a sexy grin, showing off those dimples, “Maybe I’m just smitten.”
She felt very self-conscious. She knew she looked like a walking disaster. She fretted, wondering how much he could read inside of her head. She felt grateful, though, relieved. She had certainly put him through lot of hassle the last few days and yet he was using words like smitten. It was odd to feel grateful to him considering he’d kept her captive and had chained her for a few days. She tried to push the thought out of her head. Regardless of what had transpired so far she wanted to explore her feelings for him, wanted to let herself feel them.
“Maybe you’re reading my mind. It’s an invasion of privacy, you know. And it’s not fair since I don’t know what you’re thinking or feeling.”
“You get an inkling of what I’m feeling when I feed.”
“Yeah,” she smiled and wondered if what he felt from her was similar, feelings, not clear thoughts.
He was smiling at her.
“I like your dimples,” she added shyly.
His face lit up and he touched one. “I didn’t think I had these any more. I guess you brought them back.”
“So you didn’t know I liked them?”
He shook his head, “Nope. And didn’t know they came back.”
“I guess you can’t read everything in my head?”
“I’m still learning to translate what I feel coming from you but I don’t get words, it’s more like a sense of emotion.”
“Hmm.”
She’d pushed emotions away for years. He didn’t feel them. Now, she couldn’t hide from her emotions and he could feel them, too. He was forcing her to feel them.
This, a relationship with him, if that was what you could call it, felt impossible but so possible at the same time. She wanted, no needed, to know more about what danger she was in. She blushed and repositioned the napkin across her lap.
“So, real vampire legends? Spill…”
He winced and then popped the cork on the second bottle of wine.
“I’ll handle it. I have to,” Kyla told him.
“Okay,” he said, as he poured, “A very small fraction of the female population has a certain blood element that can best be described as a highly addictive performance enhancing drug to vampires. Most refer to it as enchanted blood or vampire nectar.” He stopped.