Was she crazy to think that?
Several hours later, she got the answer to that question when Deacon entered the back room with stiff robotic movements, a dinner tray in his hands. He barely looked in her direction as he held out the tray. Steam rose from the plate, carrying the aroma of grilled chicken and roasted potatoes. It smelled so good her mouth watered involuntarily.
If there was one good thing about this ordeal—and good was a real stretch here—it was the food. Sure beat the bland pasta dishes she cooked up for herself back in her Florence apartment. She took after her mom—couldn’t cook worth a damn. Her aunt Bonnie Gene was a whiz in the kitchen, though. Lana always looked forward to Bonnie Gene’s yummy home-cooked meals whenever she visited her brother Cole in Maple Cove, Montana.
Accepting the tray, Lana slid back so she was leaning against the wall. She picked up the plastic fork, then hesitated. “Who’s doing the cooking?” she couldn’t help but ask.
“Me.”
Her head lifted in surprise. “Really?” When he nodded in confirmation, she said, “How’d you learn to cook so well?”
His response came in the form of a shrug.
“Do you like it?” Okay, she was totally grasping at straws here, but making idle conversation was the only way to ensure she didn’t bring up that explosive kiss.
Obviously, it wasn’t even on his mind, which meant she needed to follow his lead and pretend it hadn’t happened. Pretend that she hadn’t kissed her kidnapper. Hadn’t brushed her mouth against his, or parted her lips in anticipation, longing for the taste of his tongue.
“Are we going to talk about this?” she blurted out.
Wonderful. So much for pretending it never happened.
“What’s there to talk about?” Deacon’s tone was indifferent, almost cold, and it totally grated on her nerves.
“We kissed,” she said, her stern voice reminding her of the tone her brother Cole’s housekeeper, Hannah, used to reprimand her when she stole cookies off the baking sheet.
“It was a mistake.”
Lana raised a brow. “That’s it? That’s all you have to say about it?”
“Uh-huh.”
He was already edging for the door. Lana got the feeling he did that a lot. Cut and ran whenever things got too uncomfortable for him.
“Do you feel anything, ever?” she found herself grumbling. “Or do you always act like a lifeless robot around women?”
He didn’t even blink. Didn’t answer, either, which intensified her frustration.
“Why are you like this?” she burst out. “I know you’re not a robot, Deacon. That night in the hotel, you were… alive. You laughed and joked and teased me. You were passionate and gentle and…” Her voice trailed. She felt as though she was talking to a brick wall.
“An aberration,” he finally said, a sigh seeping from his massive chest. “Those words you just used—passionate, gentle. That’s not me, Lana.”
“Then who are you, damn it?” She kept her voice low, but every fiber of her being wanted to shout at this man.
“I’m the man who kidnapped you for money.”
His words were harsh, brooking no argument, seeking no acceptance. She stared at his handsome face, that big, lean body. His eyes had darkened to a forest green, and for the first time since they’d met, Lana saw something in his gaze. It was a tiny, almost indiscernible flicker, but she recognized it instantly.
Shame.
He was ashamed.
But of what? His part in her abduction? Past actions? Or was he ashamed of himself? Of who he was, on a cellular level?
“When I was twelve, my brother Dylan dated this girl… Mandy,” Lana started softly. “Everyone in my family adored her. She was a pretty brunette, smart, great sense of humor. She treated my parents like royalty, always helping clean up after dinner even though we had three housekeepers to do it. She helped me with my homework. Brought little thoughtful gifts for my mom, talked politics with my dad. She was totally perfect.”
Deacon eyed her warily. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Just…listen.” She took a breath. “So she was perfect, right, but no matter how hard I tried, I always got this nagging little feeling when she was around. She didn’t do a thing to warrant my suspicions, but they were there.”
Deacon quit moving toward the door, growing still and silent as he listened. “And were you right to be suspicious?”
Lana nodded. “Turned out she was stealing from us. Jewelry, family heirlooms, pieces of silver, even random knickknacks. Mom ended up firing one of our housekeepers—Mandy had planted a necklace in the woman’s room when my parents started noticing the thefts. When the truth came out, everyone was shocked.”