Chapter 312:
Brad’s eyes narrowed slightly, his expression darkening even in the dim glow of the car’s interior.
“Are you implying I’m too old for you?” He captured her wrist, his thumb brushing lightly against her skin. His voice turned rough and deep. “So you wouldn’t even consider it?”
Rylie thought she detected a trace of hurt in his voice, as if refusing to steal a kiss meant she wasn’t truly interested. That was probably the implication.
Meeting his gaze, she allowed a smile to play on her lips. “I didn’t realize you were this insecure.” She withdrew her hand, took a candy from her pocket, and gently pressed it against his lips. “I was only teasing.”
This was her way of apologizing and comforting him. Brad’s lips brushed against her fingertips as he accepted the candy. Only then did his expression soften. As he returned to his seat and started the car, he added, “Despite my poor health and shortened lifespan, in other aspects, I’m still energetic.”
Rylie nodded, her fingers idly brushing against her leg. “Yeah, very energetic. So, where to now?”
“Let’s find something to eat,” Brad suggested.
“It’s too late; nothing’s open,” Rylie pointed out.
“Then we’ll eat at home,” Brad answered.
“Your cook doesn’t arrive until six.” Brad glanced at her casually. “I’ll cook.”
Rylie fell silent.
They returned to the Morgan estate at four. Apart from the guards at the gate, the manor was quiet and still.
Brad shrugged off his military jacket and draped it casually over a stool in the kitchen. Rolling up his sleeves revealed his strong forearms as he retrieved prepared ingredients from the fridge.
“Come lend a hand,” he called to Rylie, handing her a bundle of greens. “Do you know how to handle vegetables?”
Taking the greens, her fingertips brushed his palm. “Are you underestimating me?” She leaned leisurely against the countertop, inspecting the leaves. “And you? The renowned admiral and wealthy heir — can your cooking even be considered edible?”
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“Barely passable,” Brad replied, placing a pot on the stove. As he bent to adjust the heat, his shirt lifted slightly, exposing a faint scar on his waist. Rylie’s gaze lingered briefly before shifting away naturally.
“Do you prefer something mild or spicy?” Brad asked.
“Both,” Rylie replied casually, sliding the prepped vegetables toward him. “I’m tired; I don’t feel like moving.”
Brad paused briefly, then resumed slicing the lamb. “Just relax, then.”
“Your knife skills are impressive,” she remarked.
“I spent some time in a culinary unit years ago.”
“And this broth smells wonderful.”
“Then drink plenty of it later.”
Rather than sitting, Rylie stayed beside him, observing as he worked and occasionally complimenting his skill. Their conversation flowed naturally, and soon steam rose around them, enveloping them in warmth.
.
.
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