Bishop Takes Knight by McKenna Dean

Author:McKenna Dean
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: paranormal romance shifters suspense urban fantasy historical alien technology high society secret a
Publisher: Redclaw Publishing
Published: 2019-09-17T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

My feet dragged with exhaustion when I climbed the stairs the following evening, but I knew as soon as I turned the handle to my apartment door someone was already inside.

I flinched at the convulsive movement of the ray gun in my purse and took a calming breath. “Down, boy,” I said, patting my purse as I walked through the door.

From the delicious odors wafting through the living room toward me, I had a good idea of who was in my kitchen.

I wasn’t wrong. Knight stood in front of the stove, shirtsleeves rolled up to bare his forearms, a dish towel draped across his shoulder as he stirred something in one pot, while steam roiled off boiling water in another. An open bottle of wine stood at his elbow, along with my best glasses—filled with a rich burgundy of some sort. From the oven came the heavenly aroma of garlic, butter, and warm bread.

His obvious comfort level and sheer competency robbed me of speech, and any words I might have said about him breaking into my apartment died with the faint rumbling of my stomach. As I watched, he grabbed a potholder and cracked open the oven to check the baking bread.

I cleared my throat. The oven door clanged shut, and he spun in my direction with a yelp.

Spying me in the doorway, he scowled and pressed a hand to his chest. “Give me a heart attack, why don’t you?”

“That’s what you get for sneaking into my apartment. You’re lucky I didn’t shoot first and ask questions later. But I assumed most burglars wouldn’t cook an Italian dinner before robbing me.”

The pasta on the back burner threatened to boil over. Turning off the gas, he carried the pan to the sink and poured everything into a colander sitting there. Steam billowed up. “No doubt, you’re right. That goes double for nefarious gang members seeking revenge or information.”

“If they offered garlic bread, I’d spill my guts.”

He handed me a glass of wine and offered his in a silent toast. “But of course.”

After my long day at work, I didn’t even hesitate. We clinked glasses, and I sipped from mine, eyebrows lifting at the smooth, mellow flavor. Whatever the label was, it wasn’t the cheap stuff. “Not that I’m complaining—and I’m not—but to what do I owe this honor?” I nodded toward the set table and the cooked meal with a wave of the glass.

“Let’s eat first while everything is hot. Sit. Tell me about your day.” He took the bread out of the oven and transferred it to a small bowl.

I felt the furrow creasing my brow as I took my seat. “How very... chummy of you.”

He served up a plate of spaghetti in a sauce thick with chunks of tomato, onions, and meat with the flourish of an experienced chef. After placing the bread on the table between us, he sat down with his own plate. “Don’t look at me like that. I don’t have designs on you. Well, I do, but not your virtue.

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