G.G. closed his eyes briefly.
Leaving him to digest that, Ildaria stood and moved into the kitchen. All this talk was drying out her mouth and making her thirsty. The hot chocolate hadn’t really helped. Water would, she thought, and found a glass, then grabbed a second one as well and moved to use the ice cube maker on the refrigerator door. She smiled faintly as she did. Ildaria loved this refrigerator. She loved not having to mess with ice cube trays as she’d had to do at Jess’s place. Here, she simply pressed the glass against the pedal and ice dropped into it with a rattle. Of course, Marguerite’s refrigerator had had an icemaker too, but this one was hers. Well, it was hers as long as she lived here . . . which might not be long if G.G. completely rejected her and sent her on her way.
Mouth tightening, Ildaria moved to the sink to run water into each glass of ice and then carried one over to set down in frontof G.G. before returning to the kitchen. As she opened cupboard doors and retrieved a bowl and ingredients, she reminded herselfthat she would be fine. She had survived much worse in her life, she could survive his rejection. She would just get a jobsomewhere else.
Ildaria was even beginning to think that might be easier than she’d previously thought. She’d taken waitressing jobs sincemoving to the United States and Canada, not even considering trying for accounting work. But now she realized G.G.’s couldn’tbe the only business in need of an immortal to work the books. Immortal accountants were not thick on the ground. She mightnot have her degree yet, but with three years under her belt, she could get another job in her field. She would work, renta room somewhere and finish her degree. She would survive this.
“What are you doing?”
Ildaria glanced around to see that G.G. had moved to stand by the island, the glass of water in hand.
“Making muffins,” she answered automatically, and then paused as his expression changed, and she realized she was making muffins. They blinked at each other briefly, the memories of last night’s dream rising between them.
His lips trailing down her breast to the valley between them as he said, “You smell like muffins.”
She’d been startled by the announcement, but then he’d added, “Vanilla and spice. Delicious.” The words had been followed by his tongue swiping up her second breast and lashing the nipple there, and he’d growled, “I love muffins,” before claiming that nipple to suckle it. Ildaria had promised herself she’d make him muffins as he began to nip and lashat the hard bud, sending bolts of excitement through her body.
“Muffins sound good,” he said, his voice deeper even than usual.
Ildaria noted the heat in his eyes and swallowed, her body suddenly vibrating just a bit. Turning away abruptly, she returnedto what she was doing, measuring ingredients and putting them in the bowl as she said, “I was thinking blueberry muffins.Do you like blueberries?”
The silence was long, but finally he said, “Yes,” in his normal voice and she relaxed with relief. Like her, he’d pushed downwhatever that memory had made rise between them. Now was not the time for it.
A quick glance in his direction showed her that he’d settled at the island with his water, and now held H.D. in his arms.He was petting the dog soothingly as he watched her. She turned back to what she was doing.
A moment passed and then G.G. asked, “What happened when Señorita Ana realized it was her father who had attacked and turnedyou?”
Ildaria shrugged. “I don’t know if she ever found out.”
“Explain,” he requested gently.
She nodded, but grabbed eggs from the fridge before admitting, “I didn’t go down to the salon. At first I didn’t even move. I just stood there at the top of the stairs awash in horror.” She shrugged. “I don’t know how long I stood there, but finally the maid who had told me Señorita Ana wished me to join her approached. She asked if I was all right, and was I not going down? Señorita Ana was waiting. When I nodded and started down, she moved away. I heard her walk back up the hall, and I just—” She grimaced, cracked an egg’s shell on the side of the bowl, and let the egg drop out on top of the dry ingredients as she finished. “I just walked calmly down those stairs and straight out the front door. I even managed to stay at a walk until I’d reached the end of the drive. Only then did I break into a run.” She met his gaze again. “I have been running ever since.”
G.G. frowned. “Your abuela?”
Ildaria turned away to set down the now empty shell and pick up another egg before admitting, “I never saw her again.”
“What?” There was such horror in his voice that she winced. It was the same horror she felt when she thought of it. Her abuelahad been everything to her. She had given her a home and unconditional love. Her abuela had supported and fought for her.She’d deserved better.
Sighing, Ildaria cracked and added three more eggs to the batter, then gathered all four of the broken shells and tossed them in the garbage under the sink. She then washed her hands quickly, before grabbing a large spoon to stir the batter and said, “I wanted to go directly to her, tell her what I had remembered, and ask what to do. But I needed to feed.”
She glanced over to see G.G. nod, but knew he didn’t really understand. She needed to explain. Picking the bowl up off thecounter, she cradled it in one arm and turned to lean against the counter so that she could watch him as she stirred the batterand spoke. “The start of the turn, what you saw when your
