Innocently Evil (A Kitty Bloom Novel) (10 page)

I looked at myself in the mirror. My cheeks had turned rosy from the heat of the shower and
my skin was warm with the colors of peaches and cream. I’d dried my hair as best as I could with my towel and then brushed it straight. My sapphire blue eyes seemed bright and my lips were pink from the heat of the shower. I looked down at how Sam’s clothes sat on me. The long singlet hung low over my chest and showed a little more cleavage then I would have liked. While, the boxers, on the other hand, reached just over halfway down my thighs and looked more like shorts than underwear. The only difficulty was that they kept slipping off my hip bones, threatening to fall off at some embarrassing moment. 

I decided to search Sam’s cabinet for a safety pin or something of the like. Although the cabinet by the basin was almost completely empty except for
necessities, I managed to find a lonely safety pin in a dark corner. I held the waistband of the boxers tight and clipped the pin securely in place. Looking up at my appearance once more, I sighed in defeat. This would have to do.

Picking up my wet clothes, I opened the bathroom door and tip-toed down the stairs. A delicious smell hit my nose just as I reached the landing. It was sugary sweet
and smelt like doughy batter, reminding me of early morning breakfasts with Mum in New York. I headed quickly down the last flight of stairs and stopped dead at the bottom. Sam was standing with his back to me, in the kitchen, cooking pancakes.

He was no longer wearing his wet, white singlet and was
completely naked from his hips up, which made it very hard for me not to stare at the tight, muscled skin of his back. I felt my mouth hanging open in awe and had to physically shake myself out of it.

“Ahh
mm,” I coughed, annoyed at my body’s reaction to him.

Sam turned to face me with a huge grin.

“You cook,” I said, completely unaware, at the moment I said it, of how stupid it sounded.

Sam’s grin widened at my distracted stare.
“Yep,” he said, happily. “I hope you like pancakes.” He turned back around and attacked a freshly poured pancake with an egg flip. “The track pants didn’t fit,” he said.

I pulled my arms closer to me a little protectively and watched him flip the pancake over into the pan.
“No,” I said, shyly.

“Did you want to try something else,” he asked, sounding a little serious.

I looked down at his clothes on my body and then back up at him. There seemed to be no need to feel embarrassed. Even though I was feeling pretty naked in what I was wearing, I seemed to be comfortable around Sam. He just seemed to radiate such a feeling of safety, of protection and of acceptance that I felt I probably could have been naked in front of him and still have been happy to remain that way.

I relaxed my arms and took a step into the kitchen towards him.
“No,” I said. “This is fine.”

“Okay,” he said
, turning around to smile at me. “Now, are you a short or tall stack girl?”

“Short,” I said with a grin.

Sam mirrored my look and turned around to flip the last pancake on top of a small pile already on a large plate. He switched off the stove, then carried the pan over to the sink, poured some tap water into it, and then left it in the sink to sit. He turned back to me, resting his hands on the bench top and looked me up and down. I could see by the light in his eyes that he liked the look of his clothes on me. I couldn’t help but smirk at the calculating look he was giving me. He seemed to be devouring me with his eyes. As I took a step towards him he seemed to snap out of it and gave me a pleasantly embarrassed smile.

“The plate
on the left is yours,” he said, “and don’t forget to help yourself to your favorite vice while you’re at it. I have a terrible weakness for golden syrup and raspberries.”

At first I wasn’t exactly
sure what he meant, and my mind was off, wondering about things naughtier than pancake toppings. Then I noticed the counter top. I’d been so distracted by Sam and his naked chest that I hadn’t even noticed the amount of crazy food he’d arranged by the empty mixing bowl. There were punnets of strawberries, blueberries and raspberries, four types of dessert syrups, chocolate chips and flakes, and a tub of vanilla ice-cream. I looked at him with a raised eyebrow. Was he trying to get me fat?

“What,” he
asked, shrugging his shoulders. “I was dead for almost fifty years. Food is a total luxury for me.”

“Uh-huh
,” I said, looking back at the countertop, “I can see that.”

“Just shut up and eat,” he told me in playful annoyance.
He pushed himself up from where he was leaning and walked over to me with hands outstretched. “Give me those clothes and I’ll stick them in the dryer,” he said. “And sit in the lounge room near the fire. It’s much warmer in there.”

I raised an eyebrow at his instructions, but handed him my wet clothes without complaint.
“Yes, Mother,” I said, under my breath as he walked passed me.

Suddenly,
I felt a light slap on my bum and I spun around to glare at him. Sam grinned and winked at me, then continued walking over to a small door at the corner of the kitchen. I decided to leave him playing housewife and turned my attention back to the scrumptious food laid out in front of me. I grabbed the smaller plate of pancakes and started pouring a lavish amount of maple syrup over them, until I was certain that I had drowned them all. Then, I took a small handful of chocolate chips and blueberries and threw them on top. By the time I turned around, I could hear the dryer spinning and Sam was heading back inside the kitchen through the small door.

“So,” I began, “you’re a man who cooks, does his own w
ashing and keeps his house clean—are you sure you weren’t a proper little housewife in your past life?”

He gave me an amused glare and then walked up close to me, until only my plate of pancakes was between us.
He leaned in close, looking deep into my eyes and licked his lips. “No,” he almost whispered. “I was a soldier.”

In an instant, a knife and fo
rk appeared in front of me, so close to my face that it made my head jerk back in fright. Sam, overly amused at my reaction, waved them around until I lifted my hand up and snatched them from him. He smiled smugly at me. “Now, get in the lounge room and eat,” he said, feigning military orders.

“Yes, sir,” I said and raised the knife and fork to my head in salute.
I turned and headed for the lounge room, but just as I reached the threshold, I wiggled my bum in a teasing fashion and poked my tongue out over my shoulder at him. Sam raised an eyebrow at me, from where he stood with his arms crossed across his chest, then suddenly moved from that position, snatched up a blueberry and threw it at me. I was in the safety of the room and sitting on the sofa in a flash.

I ha
d nibbled away at a good portion of my pancakes before Sam came to join me. He rounded the black leather sofa with his plate piled high and stopped, just before he sat down, to look at me. He gave me a helpless smile and shook his head. I looked down at myself. I was sitting cross legged on the sofa with my plate balancing on the top of a dark brown cushion. I couldn’t see the problem.

“What,” I asked between mouthfuls.

He sat down on the sofa close to me and looked away, shaking his head. His smile was almost one of disbelief. I sat up a little straighter and turned my body a bit to face him better. I was waiting for an answer.

Sam looked up at me with a satisfied smile.
“You’re on my sofa,” he said finally.

“Yes,” I said,
looking around at myself again. “Is that a bad thing?”

He laughed and shook his head.
“No,” he said, still grinning.

“Then I don’t get it,” I said, feeling totally out of the loop.

“It’s just,” he began again. “You’re on my sofa.”

I looked at him again, beginning to feel a little worried for his sanity. Yes, I was on his
sofa. We’d established that and we’d established that it wasn’t a bad thing. So I still had no idea what he was talking about.

Sam gave me a serious smile. His violet eyes were dark, but reflected the glow of the fire as he looked at me. “You, Kitty Bloom, are on
my
sofa,” he said.

I still didn’t get it.

“You’re in
my
house, on
my
sofa,” he continued. “You used
my
shower, saw
my
bedroom, are wearing
my
clothes and
I
cooked pancakes for you.”

“Yes,” I said a
gain, still completely confused. “That sounds about right.”

Sam laughed to himself and looked away from me to the fire.
“I just can’t believe it’s real,” he said. “I’ve wanted you with me, really with me, since the day I was given a second life.” His eyes met mine again and he seemed so sad, but yet so happy. “And you’re here,” he said. “You’re actually here with me.”

The intense look in his eyes made my insides ache and I had to look away. I speared another piece of pancake with my fork, lifted it to my mouth and chewed silently.
I could still feel Sam looking at me, but I was afraid that if I looked back at him right at that moment I’d cry.

“Are they any good,” Sam asked after a few moments.

“What,” I choked, still trying to get my mind off what he’d said.

“The pancakes,” Sam said. “A
re they to your liking?”

I managed to look up at him with a brief smile. He was smiling apologetically at me in return.

“Best I’ve ever had,” I said.

Sam’s smile widened at my answer and I couldn’t help but grin back at his gorgeous baby boy features. He had such a sweet innocent looking face. It was only his eyes that held all his past heartbreak and pain, and which gave away his true age.

Carefully and unable to stop myself, I placed my fork on my almost empty plate of pancakes and I reached over to Sam with my left hand. I put the palm of my hand on his cheek as he looked at me with surprise. I gazed at his damp, shaggy mane of golden hair, his firm, rounded jaw, his straight button nose and his full, kissable lips. Then, I looked into his eyes, his deeply pained, unnaturally violet eyes. And I kissed him.

It was a brief kiss, a mere touching of lips, but in it I tried to tell him that I understood his pain, that I
understood his worry for me and how much he cared. I tried to show him that I cared, that he wasn’t alone and that I
was
here with him, on his sofa, in his house, in his clothes.

I leaned away from him, dropped my hand from his face and
licked my lips. He looked at me with shocked, sad and understanding eyes. And I had to look away. I picked up my unfinished plate, placed the pillow back on the sofa, and stood up and left the room.

In the kitchen
, I wondered what was wrong with me. I couldn’t believe I’d kissed Sam, let alone left him alone in the lounge room to deal with it by himself. But, I just couldn’t seem to handle it. I felt torn inside. Like I wanted to go one way, but my body wanted me to go another. I felt like I needed to escape, to run away from here. Deep down I knew what it was. As Cantrelle had said, my natural instinct, the instinct born of Lilith’s blood was beginning to respond to anything good around me, telling me to run for the hills when anything like that was close by. An angel, I was sure, was probably the last thing my body wanted me to be around at this moment. But, it was Sam and I—wanted to stay with him. Besides, my only other choice for company seemed to be Max and I wasn’t keen on ever seeing him again.

I heard footsteps coming into the kitchen behind me, but I didn’t turn around. I continued to look down at where I’d placed my plate on the countertop.

“Kitty,” I heard Sam say quietly behind me.

Still, I chose not to turn around. I wasn’t sure what I’d see in his eyes if I did, and either way I was worried that it would frighten me. I heard the footsteps come closer until I was sure that Sam was behind me. Out of the corner of my eye
, I saw Sam place his plate on the counter top near mine, but I still couldn’t make myself look up.

Suddenly, I felt Sam’s hands slide around my stomach and he pulled me gently around to face him. Hot tears had already begun to bleed into my eyes by the time I looked up at him. His eyes were serious and understanding. He didn’t say a word, but pulled me closer until my body was firm along the line of his and my head rested on his chest.

“I’m so sorry,” I sobbed, hating myself for my moment of weakness.

Sam stroked my hair with his hand and held me tighter as though there was no way he was going to let me go. Soft, wet tears ran from my face and onto Sam’s warm, bare chest. His skin smelled of honey and I couldn’t help but breathe him in. I slowly began to calm, even though I could still feel unfinished sobs tugging at my chest from where they lay trapped.

Eventually, most likely with red eyes and blotchy cheeks, I lifted my head from his chest and looked up at him. “Don’t let me run away, okay,” I begged him. “Even if I say I want to. It’s not what I really want.” I looked fiercely up into his eyes trying to force the seriousness of the issue and Sam looked back down at me with pursed lips and furrowed eyebrows. “Okay,” I asked again, needing a positive response before I’d feel alright again.