Fuchsia Is The Color Of Love

Chapter 9

Hany's hands were shaking as she rolled the dough she had just made into the pan. She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. Her nerves were all over the places. She was usually calm, cool and collected. But it seemed impossible to maintain that persona in this cabin.

She opened the stoves door, placing the pan inside. Once that was done she turned and stared at the ingredients lined along the table. Her eyes wavered toward the door...she had no idea what to cook this man. Ms. Jewel loved her stew and requested that Hany cook it on a regular but Andrew was not Ms. Jewel.

"I'll eat anything you make."

Hany jumped, the sound of Andrew's voice catching her off guard. She glanced at him before looking away. "You don't really have a choice in the matter, either you eat what I cook or you starve." She spat.

Andrew chuckled at that comment. "That is very true."

She fished around the ingredients on the table and began to chop carrots and potatoes into small pieces. She worked with a fast hand, her movements quick and even. Andrew watched her go, finding her even more attractive in her domain.

She froze, feeling uncomfortable and exposed with Andrew's eyes following her. "Stop staring at me!"

"I can't help it...You're nice to look at." He said.

She frowned at his words, trying to suppress the flutters of awareness that began to surface all over again. "Go and do something!" She snapped.

He tilted his head, "Whenever you're ready I'll gladly take you up on that offer."

"You're disgusting." She mumbled. "If you're going to stand around here staring at me you might as well make yourself useful." She commented, sliding a knife and several potatoes his way.

He raised a brow, "I don't think you want me cooking. I've never cooked a thing in my life. Except passion...I've been known to cook up desire."

She gave him a dull look, slamming the knife onto the table. "If you're in my kitchen, you're cooking."

He opened his mouth to argue but gauging from the look on her face he was sure that arguing would be pointless. He rolled up his sleeves, revealing muscular forearms. Hany swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. This was ridiculous. She was not easily influenced. His tan complexion, soft skin, glowing smile...soft lips, passion filled kisses...She wrapped her hand around her forehead.

Was she sick? She had to be because thinking of this man as anything more than the idiotic selfish brute that he was, was nothing short of crazy.

She averted her eyes from his arms and cleared her throat. Andrew began to cut haphazardly at the potato, his large hands struggling to cut through the vegetable with the knife. Hany watched him for a moment before smirking, a chuckling forming on her lips. "Haven't you ever...chopped vegetables?"

He  frowned, concentrating hard on the task at hand. "I've already told you...I don't cook."

She shook her head but allowed him to continue his blatant struggles. She moved around the kitchen with confident movements, ignoring Andrew to the best of her ability.

"Why do you like cooking so much?" Andrew asked her out of the blue. She froze, glancing back at him.

"I don't like cooking. I love it."

"Why?"

She shrugged, moving toward the oven and pulling out the freshly baked bread. "When I was younger it was a means to an ends, I guess." She sat the bread on the counter, letting it cool off.

"Growing up wasn't the best time for me. My mother was a hard worker, worked herself right to death. My father couldn't quite seem to function without her and...well he died soon after."

"I'm sorry." Andrew said sincerely, catching her off guard.

"Oh, you don't need to be. I always think of it as kind of romantic really."

He raised a brow, "Romantic?"

"Yes. My mother used to cook and though we didn't have much it was always delicious. I learned how to cook from her. She loved it, the kitchen. I guess I learned to love it from her.  My father was crazy for my mother, everything she cooked was like gold to him. They were married for twelve years and when my mother died...I watch my father yearn for her every day. He couldn't go on without her."

Andrew sat the knife down on the table and sighed. "You...want that?"

She stayed silent for a moment. "I want love."

"You want marriage?"

"Yes, I do. I want love and I want marriage."

Andrew frowned at her answer, it was so very unlike him to inquire about anything beyond a romp in the sheets. And he wasn't sure what it was but her answer had him suddenly frustrated. The thought of her marrying anyone...coming to love another...it left a sour taste in his mouth.

He pushed away from the table, his temper suddenly simmering to life. "I'm going to leave you to it. I think I've disturbed you enough." He snapped as he headed for the door.

She watched him go with sudden confusion but she did not stop him.

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Andrew devoured the soup in his bowl, his stomach singing joyfully. He groaned as his teeth sank into the fresh bread. "You're an angel. Your hands are magical, Hany."

Hany couldn't suppress the smile that spread across her face at his words. If there was one thing she prided herself on it was her cooking. "Thank you."

Andrew nearly choked on the bread in his mouth. He reached for his glass, guzzling down the wine in it. This was the first time she had ever smiled at him. He'd be lying if he said it wasn't a beautiful smile.

"Are you alright?" Hany asked with concern, the last thing she needed was a dead body on her hands. He nodded before setting his glass down.

Hany ate quietly, slowly. The sun had already begun it's slow descent, darkness was quickly filling the interior of the cabin. Hany was, quite simply, not ready for night fall. The image of the bed just down the hall had her eating even slower than before. She was afraid, truly afraid of what lie ahead.

She could only fight so much before succumbing to the warmth that spread at Andrew's touch. She was no idiot. Nor was she one to lie to herself. She knew what would happen...she would fight him and fight him until she could no more. Until she felt those flutters in the pit of her stomach that were beginning to become more and more familiar.

Andrew stood, his chair scraping the floor. Hany flinched at the sound, realizing that her thoughts were wayward. He lit a lantern and sat it on the table. His eyes glanced in Hany's direction. She was stalling and it was obvious. There was nothing left in her bowl.

"How do you plan on eating air?" He asked quietly.

Hany licked her lips before glancing up at him. "I'm not sleeping with you. I'll sleep on the floor before I step foot on that bed."

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration simmering to the forefront. "Come on, Hany. Is the thought of me making love to you so horrid?"

He reached for her at his words and she shot out of her seat, meeting him head on. "This has to stop. This whole thing is...is...crazy! You lay one hand on me and I swear you'll be missing an appendage!"

He grabbed her, tossing her over his shoulder. She shrieked, anger bursting forward. This was beginning to feel like deja-vu.

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