Taste (Take It Off #9)(6)
Author: Cambria Hebert

He popped an entire one in his mouth and chewed. “I wouldn’t look good with blue hair.”

That got a small smile, but it disappeared quickly. Just the mere idea of smiling at a time like this felt so wrong.

“Making bread?” he asked.

“Yep,” I replied.

He pushed out of the doorway and waltzed into the room. The black suit he wore was completely wrinkle free. I knew he had a gun on his person somewhere. Maybe I should get a gun. When the men came back, I could just shoot them. It would be self-defense. Right?

“Earth to Elle,” Spencer said, stopping on the other side of the island.

I looked up.

“What’s wrong with you?” he asked, blunt.

“Nothing.”

He finished off the last cookie and brushed his hands off over the floor. “You’re lying.”

“Am not,” I said, kneading the dough some more and using it as an excuse not to look at him.

“You’re white as a ghost, your hands are shaking like a leaf,” he pointed out, “and you’re not staring at me with those bedroom eyes of yours.”

I jerked up. “Bedroom eyes?” I felt my eyebrow rise.

He grinned.

“I’m fine,” I said, returning to the bread. “Just having an off day, I guess.”

I felt his stare as I worked. He didn’t say anything. Usually by now he’d be gone. He’d come in, steal cookies, make a couple ornery comments, then disappear. I looked forward to those moments. It made me angry I couldn’t enjoy it today.

A sharp sound of something hitting the ground followed immediately by shattering glass made me jump. Adrenaline surged through my bloodstream, and I pressed a hand to my chest as I looked around for the cause of the disruption.

My eyes sought out every corner of the little kitchen, searching for some sign of attack. Had the men gotten in here somehow? Were they coming for me?

What about Jack?

Panic pretty much took over my entire body. Even though the room was empty, I still wasn’t able to gain control of my emotions. I backed up, skirting across the floor until my back came up against the nearby wall.

The bread dough lay on the island, forgotten.

Through the clutches of the panic attack, I saw Spencer’s mouth moving, but I couldn’t hear the words. I knew I needed to respond, but I couldn’t. I just couldn’t.

Spencer leapt over the island like it wasn’t even an obstacle, his feet landing on the ground aptly. He rushed across the room, his face a mask of concern and concentration. His body approached mine as I plastered myself against the wall, desperately trying to breathe.

At first, I worried the way he crowded my space would make me panic worse, would make me feel like I was being cornered. But Spencer didn’t scare me. His large hand wrapped around the back of my neck and applied gentle pressure to the muscles that were completely locked up.

“Breathe in,” he said, his voice totally calm and reasonable.

It was that tone that seemed to break through the worst of my panic. With another squeeze to the back of my neck, I opened my mouth and air rushed in.

My body sagged against the wall, but Spencer kept hold of the back of my neck, still kneading the muscles.

He angled his body so he was directly in front of me. The only thing I could see was him and the broad width of his shoulders. He smelled good; his cologne, slightly musky, seeped into the edges of my senses, bringing with it even more calm.

Spencer was basically a professional bodyguard. He was totally calm right now. If something bad was happening, he would be reacting. He would be doing something. Clearly, I was safe. Clearly, he would make sure of it.

A few more minutes of even breathing and his scent so close and my body released its death grip it had over me. A fine sheen of sweat broke out over my skin, and I leaned against the wall because my knees felt incredibly weak.

When I was okay enough to speak, embarrassment washed over me. I looked up at Spencer. “I’m really sorry.”

“What are you sorry for, darlin’?”

He had a deep voice. A soothing voice. If he were a singer, he would for sure be an alto.

“I panicked,” I said as if it hadn’t been totally obvious.

He loosened his grip on the back of my neck but didn’t release me. I was glad for that. His touch was grounding, and frankly, it gave me somewhere to focus other than the horrible thoughts forcing their way into my mind.

“Someone out in the main kitchen dropped something,” he said. “It broke.”

I nodded. “I guess I’m a little jumpy today.” I tried to give him a sheepish smile. I have no clue if I succeeded.

He was frowning when I stole a glance at him. His honey eyes captured mine, refusing to let go. I felt the way he searched my gaze, like he was able to extract all the info he wanted without asking a single question.

“What happened?” he whispered, shifting so he was just a little bit closer.

“Nothing.” I lied.

“You just had a panic attack. You look like hell.”

I made a scoffing sound and laughed. “Gee, way to make a girl feel good,” I said, tilting my head back against the wall and looking up at the ceiling. I kept my head back a little because tears were threatening to spill over and I wanted to keep them under control.

A change came over Spencer. His body became still and in that stillness, he emanated great tension. His hand withdrew from my neck and he lifted it, brushing at the side-swept bangs I styled myself with this morning.

“What happened to your head?” he said, his fingertips brushing over the butterfly bandage.

I winced. Of all the people to notice it.

“Just an accident,” I said, ducking my head so my hair fell over it. It was bruising around the cut this morning and still very sore.

He grabbed my chin and tilted my face up so he could scrutinize it. “Your lower lip is swollen,” he noted, his eyes narrowing into angry slits.

Without any notice, he grasped my bottom lip and pulled it out, rudely poking around on the inside.

“Hey,” I protested, my voice sounding funny because he was holding my face hostage.

“There’s a cut inside your lip,” he growled.

I jerked my face away and tried to slip around him, to get away from the close inspection. Spencer grabbed my upper arm and I yelped. Then I stiffened, pissed at myself for giving away yet another injury.

Slowly, deliberately, he withdrew his hand from my arm. I moved to rush away. He wasn’t about to allow it. Instead of grabbing me again, he wrapped his wide, solid arm around my waist, pulling me so my side was flush against his chest.