I was exhausted from sleeping in an uncomfortable position all day so I lay down on the comfy couch and stretched my limbs. I could hear the sound of utensils moving in the kitchen but I didn’t bother to check. Instead, I turned on the LED to watch something. I changed the channels in the hope of finding something interesting but when I didn’t, I turned it off and put the remote away.
The room soon filled up with delicious savoury aroma and it made my stomach grumble with hunger. Finally leaving the couch, I walked towards the counter where Mr. Miller was busy making pasta. Never did I think I would watch Mr. Tall, dark and handsome in a kitchen, cooking something. His sleeves were folded, his hair was disheveled and his mouth was thinned into a scowl. Dare I say, he looked kinda sexy.
“Are you going to just stand there or are you here to help me?” He said while straining the pasta.
“Nah, I am fine.” I said and hopped over the counter, watching him make the sauce for pasta calmly. “I didn’t think you could cook.” I commented.
“What gave you that impression?” He asked.
“Um… Maybe the fact that you have a chef.” I shrugged.
“Just because I can cook doesn’t mean I have to.” He replied snarkily.
“Brat.” I said and his jaw ticked.
“What did you say?” He turned towards me after putting the lid on the pan.
“Nothing.” I lied straight to his face.
“Then why did I hear you call me brat.” He asked as he slowly walked over to me.
He stopped just a few inches away from me and put his arm on both sides of my legs, locking me on the counter. I looked around nervously, feeling a strange rush through me. We were alone in the jungle. For all I know, he could bury me here and nobody would find my body. But that was not the thing that concerned me at the moment. There was something else that could happen here and nobody would ever find out.
“Maybe you are a brat. That’s why you thought I called you brat.” I said, crossing my arms in front of my chest.
“If I were you, I'd learn how to control my tongue.” He looked at me with narrowed eyes.
“Good thing you aren’t me.” I whsipered with an equally hard glare.
Our staring competition went for a little while as neither of us tried to back down. It wasn’t until the smell of char filled tha air around me. Realizing, Mr. Miller rushed to salvage the pasta sauce while I walked out of the kitchen with a smug smile.
About ten minutes later, he arrived with two plates of spaghetti and handed one over to me. I suspiciously took a bite, expecting it to taste like shit but to my surprise, the food tasted good.
"Good enough for you?" He asked, swirling his fork around the spaghetti.
"It is. I'm surprised you are good at something other than threatening and killing, Mr. Miller." I commented, earning another glare from him.
"There are other things I am great at." He added.
"Like?" I asked, curious.
A smirk appeared on the corner of his lips. "I am afraid you won't find out." He replied.
"What is it?" I asked in an annoyed voice. "Tell me."
When he didn't reply, I turned my face away from him in anger and indulged in eating. Once I ate to my heart's full, I cleaned the dishes and retired to one of the two rooms.
The room looked like it belonged to a teenage girl. It had cutouts of popular actors pasted on the mirror and all the walls. There was a twin bed just beside the window and the sight outside the window wasn't pleasant. I hated jungles and the sight of tall trees swaying in the dark made me feel a little uneasy.
YOU ARE READING
The Mysterious Mr. Miller
Mystery / Thriller"Why can't you let me go?" I asked, my voice dripping with frustration. He had cornered me against the wall, his muscular arms caging me. "I don't know." He replied, leaning his head against me so gently that for a moment, I forgot how dangerous th...
