Recipe for Love (Jupiter Tides #1)

by Anne Malcom

The kitchen was my safe space. And here he was in it. All large, imposing and furious. “Take off your sweater,” he said quietly. He may as well have roared it for the impact it had. Although his tone was velvet smooth, it was threaded with pure fury. The fury that shone in his eyes, that made the cords of his neck stand out, made his hands fist at his sides. It was the fury that should’ve had me shrinking into a tiny, terrified ball. Not just because of last night but because of who I was as a person in general. Skittish. Afraid of most things. Anxious to submit to most situations. But inexplicably, I folded my arms across my chest, jutted my chin upward and narrowed my eyes at him. “No,” I snapped. He blinked slowly, once, regarding me. The fury did not dissipate, not in the slightest. The air seemed to vibrate with it. “Nora.” My name came out through clenched teeth. “Take off the fucking sweater.” It was the first time he’d said my name. And although he was doing the whole intimidating, alpha male thing, the thing that should’ve turned off the staunch feminist in me, it made my fingertips tingle. And not entirely unpleasantly. “Rowan,” I seethed right back. “Do not order me to take off pieces of clothing like you have the right to.” His body jerked. “Oh, I have the fucking right,” he said, voice low. My knees trembled of their own volition. “You have a black eye.” He motioned to my face. “I’m aware,” I told him. “A black eye,” he repeated as if I hadn’t spoken. “And bec...