“I don’t understand.”

Of course she wouldn’t know the first thing about gossip magazines or the frenzy for stories and pictures on one of the world’s most eligible bachelors. The burning question remained, why had he joined the service and why had he put himself in harm’s way by training in the Special Forces? That alone was fodder for articles and speculation for months, years even.

“I’m just saying, honey.” He pushed the eggs around, making certain to pull the pan before they were entirely cooked. He didn’t like undercooked eggs, but he really detested overcooked ones. This method seemed to work. He pushed them around a little more, allowing them to continue to cook without the flame, just from the heat of the pan. “I’m not pushing you, but letting me take you to Nonny is a good idea.”

“I’ll think about it.”

He caught her around her small waist and lifted her to the floor. “Sit at the table. The plates are in the cupboard along the wall there.” They were in plain sight, but he wanted to give her a task to take her mind off meeting his friends. He needed a little more time to figure out how best to get her to a place where she felt comfortable with him and then with others. “Silverware is in the top drawer beneath the cupboard where the plates are. Grab a couple of the smaller glasses for orange juice as well.”

He watched her moving in silence, her body swaying as she stood on her toes to reach for the plates, stretching all the way out. He nearly went to help her, but he knew that could be dangerous. The sight of her like that, her back to him, long hair swaying, caressing the curve of her shapely ass, her tiny tucked in-waist with just a bow around it, had him as hard as a rock all over again. He had to fight off the hunger in his cock.

She used silk, attaching it to the two plates and drawing them toward her. Her drag lines were strong, he knew that. Spider drag lines could be every bit as strong as the Kevlar used in their vests. She was adept at using silk. She pulled the plates to her, caught them and transferred them to her other hand so she could pull out the silverware. She used the same method to get the small glasses out of the cupboard.

He didn’t have fancy. He hadn’t thought about fancy. He should have. For her. His dinnerware wasn’t fine china, more thick crockery that appealed to the man in him. She didn’t seem to mind. She actually ran a finger over the plate a little reverently.

“These are beautiful, Trap. I’ve never seen anything like this.”

He should have known. Fancy was all relative. She’d been fed nutritious rations, probably on a paper plate, nothing she could turn into another weapon. The crockery was stoneware, hand-cast and painted. He had big hands. He needed plates and glasses and mugs that didn’t make him feel he would crush them if he wasn’t thinking about it every second. “Glad you like them, babe,” he said, as he put the eggs and hash browns on their plates. “When we’re finished here, I thought we could head into New Orleans and pick you up some clothes. That way, if you want to return those camisoles and jeans you can, although I have to tell you, I like the camisoles.”

She glanced up from pouring the orange juice and sent him a little smile. “That’s a little scary too, Trap.”

“Not when you’re with me. You don’t have to say or do a thing. We’ll look at the clothes. Either of us likes something, you can try it on and we’ll buy it.”

“I don’t have money, and I’m not taking yours.” She sat down in her chair, lifting her chin at him, her face set in stubborn lines.

He stared across at her for a moment, and then slowly, his grin came. The smile started around his heart and just continued from there. “Baby, that would sound a lot more intimidating if you weren’t so fucking cute sitting there with your chin on the table. You need a booster seat.”

She glared at him.

“I’m just stating a fact.”

“Very funny.” She shifted, drawing her knees under her. “You aren’t paying for me, Trap. I’ve read enough to know that’s not how it works, so don’t try to convince me otherwise.”

He leaned across the table, holding her gaze, wanting her to know this was a point he wouldn’t yield on. “I don’t give a fuck what other people do in their relationships, Cayenne. I’m the man. I take care of my woman. I don’t care if you make a million bucks spinning webs and selling them, I still take care of you. That’s who I am. That’s the man you’re going to spend your life with. I pay. You let me. And you do it graciously.”

“What do I give you to make things equal between us?”

His gaze moved over her face with swift impatience. “What you give me is everything I ask of you. Being here with me when you’re scared out of your fucking mind. Trying to cook for me when you don’t have a clue how. Wearing an apron and nothing else just because I ask you to. Following my commands when I tell you to touch yourself. Letting me leave my mark all over you because you knew it was important to me. Sitting on my face when it was frightening. Giving me the gift of watching you come apart with just my mouth on you. Sucking my cock and swallowing when you didn’t have to, just to please me. Having a fucking brain and not being a nitwit so I’m not tempted to tape your mouth closed like I am with nearly every other woman I’ve…”

“I get it, Trap. Stop talking about your other women. I’ll go into town with you, and you can buy me my own shoes. The ones I have are too big and I hate them. I have to stuff paper in the toes and they’re so uncomfortable.”

He scowled. “You should have told me right away.”

“It’s no big deal, but since you want to buy me something and you’re getting all manly and growly and caveman about it, then shoes are what I need.” She took a forkful of eggs tentatively. “I like these.”

“Try the potatoes. Manly? Growly?” He poured approval into his voice. “Now you get it. That’s me, baby, I’m the man and you concede in all things to your man.”

She rolled her eyes, and he wondered just where she’d gotten that particular gesture or whether it just came naturally to her. He was fairly certain the eye roll meant she wasn’t taking him all that seriously.

CHAPTER 10

Cayenne moved closer to the protection of Trap’s body. He was such a big man and fitting under his shoulder the way she did, his arm around her, she all but disappeared as they walked together toward the boutique he’d asked Wyatt about. She was aware of the two men flanking them, trying to give them space, which she was grateful for, but she didn’t like that Trap thought they needed them. Draden and the man they called Gino gave her a half salute with their chins and then acted like they were busy noticing the sights.