Page 20 of Magnum, Volume 1

While doing her job, she’d stumbled into something that could get her killed, and my job was to keep her breathing — not to treat her like a visiting submissive who exists purely for my entertainment. The fact that her body lit up every time I gave her an instruction or pointed out a mistake didn’t change the mission.

I was stuck with a submissive who was as turned on by me telling her how to do a job as I was but watching her work so hard to get it right. The only solution I could come up with would be to tell her not to worry about helping out around the house, but there was no logical reason for that.

“Okay,” I told Skippy, trying to focus on next steps. “Why don’t you and Mad Dog talk through some possibilities and begin working through a game plan? Meanwhile, Storm and I can look through the crypto logs to see if we can find another nearby property. I figure something within an hour’s drive? I’d want it less than that, if it were me, but that’s likely the max. No airports, not even for private transport. A bus with blacked-out windows, or perhaps just a box truck, and they sit on the floor.”

He nodded. “Sounds like a plan.” He looked at his smartwatch. “I’m not going to stay and eat with ya’ll today. Gonna head back now. Won’t be able to come tomorrow, so I’ll see you the next day.”

Chapter 9

Storm

Magnum went outside to handle some yard work while I figured out what to cook for dinner. I found some chicken in the fridge and decided on a chicken-and-rice dish. You just add rice, broth, and cream of chicken soup. Super easy and really good. The liquids soak into the meat, and the rice cooks into it and soaks up the same flavors, and it’s one of my favorite fast-and-easy meals.

But I couldn’t find cream of chicken soup in his apocalypse pantry. In my mind, that should be a basic staple, so it seemed odd. I looked through the entire giant room twice, but there didn’t seem to be any canned soups.

However, he had whipping cream in his fridge, along with mason jars labeled as beef bone broth and chicken bone broth, so I mixed the cream into the chicken broth, added a lot of onion powder and a little garlic powder, and decided it wasn’t thick enough. I made a quick slurry with cornstarch and cold water, and that solved the problem.

From there, I was back to my normal recipe, but I caught a glimpse of him working outside when I returned with the rice — shirtless, operating one of those old-timey gasless push mowers. The guy was rich and could easily pay someone to mow his yard, or at the very least buy a fancy mower, but he was doing it the hardest way possible. Sweat glistened on his back and shoulders. The muscles moved under his skin like they had their own rhythm, and I watched longer than I meant to while imagining my fingers and tongue tracing all those muscles in bed — then made myself turn back to the mixing bowl. I needed to focus here and stop lusting over my hot bodyguarding host.

Five minutes later, I opened the oven door to put the casserole dish in and smudged the pristine door around the handle and then near the top when I closed it. I stared at the marks and was way more irritated than was rational.

I blew out a breath and made a mental note to be damned sure I completely erased it later when I cleaned.

I’d already decided on salads and some kimchi to go with the main dish, but when I tried some of the kimchi, it was too spicy and would drown out the chicken. There was cabbage in the fridge though, so I chopped the kimchi smaller and mixed it with cabbage I ran over the grater in a large rough cut.

I had fun finding lots of veggies to cut into our salads, and only stopped when the timer dinged to let me know the chicken should be ready in ten minutes.

I went out onto the deck to let Magnum know we’d be eating in about ten or fifteen minutes, and then went inside to finish everything.

Magnum came inside and took a quick shower before coming to the kitchen with his hair still damp, and I was both relieved and disappointed he’d put a T-shirt on.

He poured tea for both of us, and we sat down to eat in the little breakfast nook just off the kitchen, overlooking the lake.

He took a bite and told me, “Oh, wow. This is good.” He grinned. “You really can cook.”

I speared a piece of chicken. “I had to improvise. You don’t have any cream of chicken soup in your giant pantry.”

He shook his head. “I don’t do processed foods. Was raised without them, so I guess my taste buds never got used to the fake stuff. I keep my meals as close to farm-to-table as logistically possible.”

I wasn’t sure what to say, so I changed the subject. “I want to go for a run tonight — twilight, preferably. Do you have a three-to-five mile route you can recommend?”

He shook his head, and I assumed that meant he didn’t have a route, but he said, “No running on the roads. You stay on the property.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but he kept talking in that same calm, reasonable tone. “Can’t risk you getting caught on a ring camera or dash cam. Too many idiots don’t understand basic network security, and most have no idea they’re streaming their lives to the internet for anyone who knows how to sniff out open cams.” He shrugged. “Can’t risk them having bots looking for facial rec images of you.”

It annoyed me that he was right, but since he was, I went straight to Plan B.

“Okay then, how about a late evening swim?”

He nodded. “That works.”

After dinner, he went back outside to his yardwork, and I cleaned the kitchen — and made damned sure to get the smudges on the oven door.

Hours later, I was wishing I’d brought a one-piece suit when I put my skimpy one on. It was made for being pretty, and I honestly wasn’t sure the top would stay put for actual swimming.

But we’d be in a lake, not a pool, and it was close to dark. I’d just have to make sure my nipples were covered before I got out after swimming. It’d be fine, I assured myself.

I had no idea where he was when I gathered up a towel and headed down to the water, but he was in a lounger with a beer, staring out at the water when I reached the dock.