He glanced at her as he turned off the heat and then plated the omelet. It was fluffy and yellow. He knew from recent experience it was delicious too.
“First, I would never think you useless. And second—that bad, huh?”
“Oh yeah. That bad.”
He put the plate on the table and she sat down to eat. He joined her, bringing the coffee carafe over for easy refills. Angie cut into the omelet, slipped a bite in her mouth, and closed her eyes.
“Oh, you are a catch, Colt. Cooks, cleans, and knows wine.”
He snorted. “You don’t even know the best part yet, Ang.”
She blinked. “What’s that?”
He arched an eyebrow. It took her a second. She nearly choked on her coffee. When she recovered, she glared at him—but it was a good-natured glare. “You nearly killed me!”
He held up both hands. “Hey, I didn’t say a word.”
“You didn’t have to.” She speared more omelet. “You implied, and I know exactly what you’re talking about.”
“Just say the word, and I’ll demonstrate that skill for you.”
She grinned at him. “I’m sure you would.”
He decided to leave it there since she was smiling and not running away. They’d made a lot of progress in a short time. Hard to believe it wasn’t that long ago, at New Year’s, when he thought she might never be ready to give him a chance.
“So how is it you never learned to cook? Nobody ever taught you, or you were a disaster from the beginning?”
She shook her head. “I think I could have learned, but by the time I came along, my mom was older. I was a surprise on her forty-second birthday—meaning she found out she was pregnant—and neither she or my dad really knew what to do with a kid. I don’t think they ever wanted any—or they’d given up. I’m not quite sure. Anyway, she was a school principal by then and she worked a lot. I feel like I was… not neglected, but just sort of ignored. I had everything I needed, don’t get me wrong—but I didn’t have the kind of childhood where my mom made costumes and cookies and took her turn as room mother at school. She couldn’t have done it because she was in charge. My dad worked at the GAO—the government accounting office—and he was also too busy to do those things.”
“I’m sorry.”
She shrugged. “It is what it is. I think that’s why Maddy and I bonded. Her mother was a disaster. Mine was distracted and tired. So who taught you to cook?”
“I learned from my dad and my grand-mère. They were very big into food. My mother taught me some things as well, but it was mostly dad and Mémé.”
Angie smiled. “I love it when you say things in French. It’s so pretty.”
“I’ll say everything in French if it makes you happy,” he told her.
“That would be lovely—except I wouldn’t understand a thing you say.”
“Oh, I imagine I could make some things understood.”
She stared at him. Then she shook her head. “There you go again, saying things you think will make me blush.”
“I didn’t say it to make you blush.”
“Maybe not, but it did.”
He reached over and skimmed his fingers over the back of her hand, up her arm. Her pupils dilated. “I like it when you blush, mon ange.”
“What did you call me?” she asked, her voice little more than a whisper.
“I called you my angel.”
“I like that. It’s very sexy when you say it.”
“That’s what I was going for. Sexy.” He winked, then sat back.
She gaped at him before returning her attention to the omelet. “You like teasing me.”
“I like you.”
She didn’t say anything. Then she lifted her gaze, and he felt a jolt at the touch of her eyes on his. When she smiled, his chest tightened. Jesus, he had it bad for this girl.
“I like you, too, Colt.”
“I’m glad. I was afraid you didn’t for a while.”
“I know. And I’m sorry. I told you why. I still feel like it was my fault—but I’m working on it. I mean I’ll probably always feel some kind of guilt over the whole thing, but it wasn’t me who did those things. It was her. Natasha.”
“That’s right.”
Colt thought of the last time he’d seen Natasha Orlova. It’d been on a mountain in Spain, and she’d had Tallie Grant with her. Not to hurt her, but to rescue her. Once she’d turned Tallie over to Brett, she’d disappeared. Colt hadn’t seen her since. He wondered if Ian had. There were undercurrents between those two, but Colt didn’t know what it meant. Or what Jace thought about the whole thing since Natasha was his sister. Still hard to believe that bit, actually.
Colt for sure didn’t care for Natasha, aka Calypso, since she’d shot him and left him for dead—though it’d been a hell of a shot that managed to miss anything vital and give him a fighting chance. He’d never know if she’d done it on purpose or if she’d just fucked up that day. He’d prefer if he never had to see her again, but it wasn’t likely in this line of work. One day, she’d turn up. Like a bad penny, as the saying went.
“I know she’s still out there,” Angie said. “I used to imagine her coming for me, imagine waking up and finding her standing over my bed. But Maddy said that wouldn’t happen.”
“It won’t.” And if it did, Colt would hunt her down and blow her away. “But Ang, you shouldn’t talk about Natasha. Don’t say her name to anyone who isn’t us.”
She nodded. “I know. Mads told me.”
“Good.”
She polished off the last bite of omelet and placed her napkin on the table. “That was delicious.”
He grinned. “Glad you think so.”
He loved that she wasn’t embarrassed to
