Page 87 of Stolen By the Billionaire
There wasn’t much to wash up, but she filled the sink with hot, sudsy water and scrupulously scrubbed the bowls.
Scraping sounds and the quiet thump of the garbage can lid from behind her kept her aware of Blaze’s proximity to her, so close that he could reach out and hold her hand again.
Or even wrap his arms around her again.
No, no. Sarah did not need someone glomming all over her to soothe her like she was a frightened hen flapping around a coop. She was fine.
She finished scrubbing the melted chocolate off the glass bowl she’d used for the microwave and started on one of the steel bowls she’d used to mix up the oatmeal.
Behind her, footsteps entered the kitchen.
When she turned, three new, very tall men stood in the doorway, two variations on blond and a redhead, all clad in black fatigues like Mr. Savoie and as heavily armed. One of the guys in the back had a matte black rifle slung over his shoulder.
The redheaded guy in front rested his hand on his weapon-heavy belt and said, “We heard there was coffee and something called Puppy Chow that we had to try.”
His guttural, staccato accent with dropped consonants was Scottish, Sarah realized. Scottish. Wow, she was just sucking up the accents, trying to remember what they sounded like.
Blaze walked around the kitchen island and shook their hands. “Oatmeal is baking in the oven for breakfast, but Sarah made coffee and a snack. The snack is good.”
Her face warmed, and she scrubbed more energetically at the hardened chocolate and sugar on the stainless-steel mixing bowl while looking over her shoulder at them. “Oh, anyone could have done it.”
The redhead led the other two into the kitchen. “Savoie texted us to come in and try it. If Savoie says something is good, you know it’s good. He’s not a snob, just really interested in food. I’m Adrien. These blokes are Eian and Erick.”
Sarah turned around because putting your back to someone was not neighborly, and she nodded at the three of them and introduced herself, holding the wet bowl in her gloved hands. “Were you guys in the military, too?”
Adrien walked toward the counter, his eyes trained on the Puppy Chow bowl. “Eian was a paratrooper and underwater specialist in the SAS, and Erick was in the elite German commando unit.”
“And you?” she asked.
Adrian paused, his hand hovering over the bowl before he dug in. “Nothing to speak of.”
That was odd.
When she glanced at Blaze, he was walking back toward her, and his dark eyebrows and gaze were lowered as if troubled.
Letting the matter drop without additional comment was a Midwestern specialty in which Sarah had been thoroughly trained.
She announced, “Help yourself to the Puppy Chow. The coffeepot is over there. Cups are in the cabinet above it, and the cream and sugar are on the island.”
Sarah turned back to the sink while holding the metal bowl, but she miscalculated.
The steel bowl banged on the side of the countertop.
The dishwashing gloves clinging to her hands were wet.
When the slippery bowl clanged on the countertop, it jolted out of her fingertips, tumbling end over end toward the wooden floor.
She swiped at it but missed.
The steel bowl clattered on the floor, the bell of the bowl amplifying the jangle into a bang and crash as it hammered on the wood.
Sarah had just begun to mutter, “Oh, my—” as her hands chased after the bouncing bowl when a wall of male flesh slammed into her, knocking her to the floor.
“Stand down! Stand down!” Blaze was yelling as his body curved around hers and his arms gathered her head and pressed her against his chest.
Sarah could see Adrien and the other two men from under Blaze’s arm where she had been crammed against the cabinets.
Their guns were pointed at her.
