Page 41 of Roped in Rawhide

“I’m having too many conflicting thoughts,” I admit.

Chance’s posture relaxes as if my confession puts him at ease. “Why don’t we discuss my bad behavior over dinner? I’m suddenly famished.”

“Is that meant to be provocative?”

“What do you think?”

“Sure sounded like it.” And that doesn’t bother me in the slightest.

He widens his stance. “That’s my girl.”

A shudder rolls through me and I almost moan. I have an impulsive desire to earn his praise again. It’s odd and sort of unsettling. The recent developments from this evening have flipped me and my sense of self upside down.

“Go sit down, Wildflower. I’ll get our food.”

At Chance’s command, I move toward the dining table and take my usual seat by the window. Apparently, I don’t mind getting bossed around either. It’s quite a contradiction.

My gaze tracks his fluid movements around the kitchen. I don’t question how he knows where to find everything. At this point, it’s obvious he’s made himself at home and become very familiar with his surroundings.

He carries two steaming bowls in one hand. Two cups and forks are in the other. There’s a bottle of Perrier tucked under his arm. The balancing act is impressive, but unnecessary.

Laughter bounces my shoulders. “I could’ve lent a hand or an arm.”

His scoff admonishes me. “You’re right where I want you.”

“I’m not complaining.”

He sends me a narrowed side-eye while unloading and arranging everything on the table.

A smile twitches my lips. “I’m not complaining much.” And then the irresistible aroma of chicken curry distracts me. I inhale a greedy whiff. “It smells delicious.”

Chance wipes fake sweat off his forehead as he lowers himself onto the chair beside mine. “That’s the first hurdle. Give it a try and tell me what you really think.”

I scoop up a forkful of chicken curry and the white rice on the side, blowing on it for a few seconds before diving in. A complexity of flavors explode in my mouth like a cascade. Layers of cumin, coriander, and turmeric blended with onions, garlic, and ginger just keep going.

“Holy shit,” I groan. “This is…” Words fail me. Instead of wasting my breath, I treat myself to another bite. It does nothing to provide adequate compliments. “I don’t even know how to describe it.”

“Worth forgiving me of all my transgressions?”

“Not quite, but close.” A proper title presents itself. “This might be what the best meal of my life tastes like.”

“That’s acceptable.” He leans back, keeping his focus hooked on me.

My full fork pauses in midair. “Aren’t you going to eat?”

“I’d rather watch you enjoy the meal I prepared for you. It satisfies a very primal part of me.”

“Um, okay.” There’s no reason to dissect his comment when the food is this tasty.

“When’s our first lesson?”

The bite I just swallowed gets stuck in my throat. I cough and reach for the sparking water he poured for me. “Just tossing that out there, huh?”

“Can you blame me? It’s been on my mind nonstop since you agreed.”

Which is a mutual fascination, but I shouldn’t make it too easy after our rough history. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Teach me all the sexy shit bouncing around in that beautiful brain.”