Page 14 of Entangled
HENRY
Mood Music: “Echo” by Incubus
This woman isout of her mind—no joke, she’s certifiable—and so fucking sexy, I might actually explode.
Rowan swirls her spoon around in her bowl of chili. “Oh! Another one. Come here, you little jerk. Gotcha!” She removes the onion and places it on her napkin with the others. She’s got a pile of them now.
“If you don’t like onions, why’d you put them in?” I smear some butter onto my third cornbread muffin.
“Because they’re in the recipe,” she explains, chasing down another onion.
“So, change it.” Seems like an obvious solution, but I’m no chef. My cooking skills have always been rooted in survival. I’ve never tasted food this delicious.
Rowan sets down her spoon and stares at me like I have six heads. “Don’t you understand?”
“Uh, clearly, I don’t.”
“I can’t change it. I don’t changeanyof Mom’s recipes. This food is her legacy. It would be like erasing her existence.” Grief floods her big, green eyes but doesn’t spill over.
Jesus.
Now I feel like an asshole for pointing it out. “Sorry. When you put it that way…”
“You think I’m strange.” It’s a statement, not a question, and fuck if I know how I’m supposed to reply.
Is she an odd duck? Absofuckinglutely. Does that bother me? Not really. My sister can be a little weird at times, so I’m used to quirky young women. Rowan takes it to a new level though. She intrigues me more with each passing minute.
Like the rogue onions hiding in her bowl, she’s got layers. Yet as she peels each one down, revealing more of herself to me, she only confuses me more. On paper, she’s a billionaire heiress who lives in a mountaintop castle. That’s not the woman I’m sharing a meal with. No, this Rowan is equal parts awkward and self-assured. Sweet but demanding.
With her long, golden hair, piercing eyes, and melodic voice, she’s the siren who haunted my dreams last night. And most of today’s waking thoughts.
I purposely made her my last stop in case she decided to catapult me with another sex toy. My head is still throbbing from yesterday’s fall. If I were smart, I would’ve gone to a hospital to get checked out, but the macho in me took over. I’ve survived much worse than a concussion.
Nope. Don’t go there right now.
I beat back the dark memories trying to claw their way to the surface and keep my focus riveted on Rowan. Who is this girl who dances naked and bakes like a goddamn angel? How does shenothave a boyfriend? Better yet, who the hell was she dancing for? Rowan-Anastasia Punzel is a mystery I’m dying to solve. Even though I have no business trying.
Bottom line, she’s a customer. Not only is she too young for me, but she’s so far out of my league, I might as well be a different species.
“What I think doesn’t matter. I’m just an old, jaded ex-Marine with enough baggage to sink an aircraft carrier.”
“Is that what you’ve told yourself, or has someone led you to believe that?”
Damn, she’s intuitive.
“Both.”
She nods. “Are you married?”
“Not anymore.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Me too.” I sip my sweet tea, hoping she’ll change the subject.
“What happened?” When I hesitate, she reaches across the table and touches my arm. “It’s OK. You don’t have to tell me.”
Then why do I suddenly want to?
