She was lying. Okay, not exactly lying, but she was leaving something out. She’d told me just enough of the truth to make it believable, but what was she hiding? She obviously had other aches and pains and was moving gingerly, so why lie to me?
Nothing in her files indicated a history of abuse. so maybe she was telling the truth? But there was something about the way she hesitated with her smile that said she was holding something back from me.
Was it the bloke from earlier? She clearly hadn’t been happy to see him. But they worked together, and when would he have had an opportunity to hurt her? Unless he was the one with the boxing gloves.
I was going to have to find out more about him.
Just like a stalker.
Had he hurt her before? There had been no police reports, but maybe she’d never reported anything.
The app had only matched us a month ago, and her file didn’t mention anything about who she’d been with before that, but my instincts screamed this had something to do with the bloke at work.
One way or another I’d find out. And then I was going to hurt whoever had put his hands on her.
“Are you up for some food?” I asked her casually, knowing full well she was going to try and weasel out of it.
“You sure are persistent.” She made her way to the top of the stairs, wincing lightly as she did. “All I need right now is a hot bath. No more kickboxing for me.”
I should let it go. She was clearly wiped out. But if she wasn’t going to tell me what the hell happened to her, I was going to figure it out myself. But at least I could feed her first.
“Yes, you clearly look like you need a hot bath, but you also need some food, and I can tell you don’t feel like cooking it yourself. Besides, it’ll give us a chance to continue our conversation from this morning.”
Seeing her like that stirred a protective instinct I’d thought to be long dead. That thing I just reserved for my family, my brother, my mates… I felt it toward her.
Let’s not get carried away with ourselves. You have only known her for a month.
I couldn’t help it though.
“Thank you, but honestly, all I want to do is sleep.” Her stomach betrayed her and growled so loudly it echoed down the hallway.
“Oh, so you’re not hungry at all?”
“That’s not fair. You can’t use my grumbling stomach against me.”
I shrugged. “Everything is fair. Go have a bath. I’ll bring you something to eat.”
“I don’t want you going to any trouble. I think I have some yogurt and some frozen meals.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You need real food. And it just so happens I cooked. So you go get in the bath. I’ll be right over.”
“You’re very annoying.” A deep furrow had formed between her brows. “Why can’t you just ignore me?”
“First of all, if you think I can ignore you after we kissed, you undersell yourself. Secondly, if you think I can ignore you when you look so beat up and haggard, you underestimate my chivalry.”
“Isn’t chivalry dead?”
“Probably, yeah, if you’re dealing with a Neanderthal. Go, get in the tub. I’ll bring you something to eat.”
Back in my flat, I carved out a portion of my mother’s lasagna recipe, putting it in a container and placing the rest of it in the freezer. I also grabbed the bottle of red I had in the wine fridge.
I didn’t know much about vintage wines. But Rhodes, for all his bluster and cockiness, the bastard knew wines. He would always go on and on about which one was the best and which ones to try. It had sort of rubbed off on me, so I always made it a point to keep my wine fridge full, hoping that I would somehow become someone totally different and finally learn to give a fuck about great wines. But no. I still didn’t give a fuck. I still preferred a pint.
But Lyra looked like she could use a glass or two.
As I traipsed across the hall to Lyra’s flat, I found Mrs. Washington in the hallway, and she gave me a broad grin. “It’s so nice to see you and Lyra getting along so well.”
I grinned at her. “Just being neighborly, Mrs. Washington.” The saucy old broad knew exactly what I was up to.
She sniffed the air. “That’s lasagna, young man. You bring my mail up for me, bring me my heavy packages, but never, not even once, have you brought me lasagna.”
I chuckled softly. “Mrs. Washington, if I thought you could stomach my cooking, I’d bake you some.”
Her gaze travelled over me appreciatively, and I bit back a chuckle. “Oh, I’m willing to try, young man.”
I made a mental note of that and gave her a wave as she stepped into her flat.
I knocked on Lyra’s door, and it took her a moment to answer. When she did, she was in sweatpants. Her curls were wrapped up in a scarf, her face devoid of makeup, and I clenched my jaw at the up-close view of her bruise.
Jesus. From the looks of it, she was sore all over as well.
I kept my mouth shut though, and instead held up the container and the wine. “You have to eat. I know you’re famished.”
She blinked in surprise. “What in the world?” Her nose twitched as the scent of the garlic hit her. “Is this homemade?”
“Yes. And don’t tell me you don’t need it and you’re just going to get a doughnut because that’s bullshit. I had more than enough. So when you’re done with the container, just bring it back, okay?”
“You made lasagna?” She practically tore the container out of my hands.
“Yes. Matter of fact I did.”
“You can cook?”
I laughed and ran my hand through my hair. “Yes. I regularly get hungry, so it was
