Falling into Her Trap: Don't Cross the Line, Mr. President

Chapter 66: Old Married Couple

Ethan Blackwood’s hawk-taming plan is more like hurting the enemy with a thousand while injuring himself with ten thousand.

He’s been repressing himself for too long; a kiss was merely a small comfort, not enough to quench the immediate fire.

He was aching to savor Claire Shaw, whom he considered a delectable feast with great care.

Reason ultimately occupied his mind, suppressing his desire as he bent down to pick up the plastic bag from the floor and stepped out of the elevator first.

Claire Shaw, covering her flushed face, quickly headed forward to open the door.

Thinking of how they hadn’t eaten anything at the family banquet, Claire Shaw ordered as she entered, "Put the dishes in the kitchen, I’ll change clothes and be out to cook for you."

Though she said she didn’t want too many personal entanglements with Ethan Blackwood, he had helped her so much.

This meal for Ethan was only fair.

She returned to her room to change out of her camisole dress, choosing a comfortable home outfit, and casually gathered her hanging hair at the nape of her neck.

She also removed her makeup, dousing her flushed face with cold water.

Thinking about the unrestrained kisses she exchanged with the man at the supermarket was utterly crazy.

If someone captured and uploaded that, she’d be on the front page of the news tomorrow.

When she calmed herself and walked into the kitchen, the sound of flowing water came from within.

The man clad in a white shirt had rolled his sleeves to his elbows, his expensive watch gleamed under the light, the bulging veins in his arms showcasing his robustness.

He was tall, and the kitchen was designed for women’s stature, so he had to slightly bend while washing vegetables.

White steam wafted from the rice cooker, and the vegetables, meat, and fruits he bought were classified and neatly arranged in the refrigerator.

Even the little greens were stacked neatly, looking like they were standing at attention, a treat for someone with OCD.

Claire Shaw suddenly felt that in Ethan Blackwood, his noble status was surprisingly his least noticeable advantage.

His personal charm far surpassed his status.

The shredded potatoes were already cut, he was washing the other vegetables.

Claire Shaw spoke up, "Let me handle it, don’t get your clothes dirty."

Saying this while grabbing the apron hanging on the wall, Ethan didn’t argue, just dried his hands with a towel.

He walked behind Claire Shaw, casually helping her tie the apron.

The movements natural, akin to an old married couple.

"Then I’ll wash some fruit." He retrieved fruit from the refrigerator.

Ethan is different from those married men who need a poke from their wives to move; he can find work to do on his own.

Compared to his nimble speed, Claire Shaw’s cooking skills really aren’t all that impressive.

Although she attended culinary training classes, mainly learning Western cuisine, sashimi, and various aristocratic dining habits.

In contrast, her Chinese cooking was self-taught, accustomed to making meals without even turning on the stove, a little vegetable and fruit salad was a meal.

Looking at the fish in the nearby sink, Claire Shaw was a bit daunted; she rarely handled such live things, usually buying those already processed by a chef.

Ethan, perhaps wanting it fresh, did not have it processed; anyway, that fish lay there in the stream with its eyes wide open, mouth opening and closing, tail occasionally flapping.

Claire Shaw felt a bit timid, but her face remained calm as she asked, "How do you plan to eat this fish?"

"Steamed." Ethan replied without lifting his head while tending to the sink.

"Okay."

Claire Shaw walked slowly to the fish, engaged in a staring contest with it.

Though she hadn’t killed a fish before, she knew the basic steps; first, knock the fish out, she’d seen the market aunties do it.

Scoop the fish out with a net bag, slam it hard onto the chopping board, knock the fish’s head with the back of a knife, swiftly remove scales and guts.

She’s an exemplary student leading all subjects, having watched it many times, it shouldn’t be difficult in practice.

Claire Shaw reached to grab the fish.

As soon as she touched it, the fish sensed danger, flipped quickly, and splashed water onto Claire Shaw’s face.

She resisted screaming, staying calm as she reached out again.

Using both hands, as she clasped the fish body, it slipped away.

The slimy feel and violent wriggling made Claire Shaw’s heart jump, and she let out a scream.

"Ah!!!"

"What’s wrong?"

Ethan turned around to see Claire Shaw’s face dripping with water, the fish flopping on the floor, and she looked terrified, her small hand subconsciously clutching Ethan’s white shirt.

Like a bullied child complaining, "The fish ran away."

Ethan adored this adorable yet timid Claire Shaw more and more, her curled lashes holding a few drops of water.

Her already large eyes flashed with innocent light, as she pouted pitifully, "I can’t catch it..."

Looking at her delicate fingers, it seemed she’s never done anything like fish-killing.

He chuckled, using his shirt sleeve to wipe the water off her face, his deep yet warm voice enveloping Claire Shaw’s ears, "Let me do it, wash your hands."

Claire Shaw felt rather embarrassed; she had promised to cook for Ethan as thanks.

About to retort, Ethan continued, "Aren’t sticky fingers disgusting?"

Disgusting indeed!

Claire Shaw bolted out, running quickly.

Ethan chuckled, took advantage of her absence, swiftly catching the fish, processing it in less than half a minute without letting her witness the bloody scene.

When Claire Shaw returned, the fish was already steaming.

"Well..." She wanted to explain, "I’m actually pretty good at cooking, just that I’m not skilled at handling these."

"I understand."

Ethan took Claire Shaw’s hand, under the light, appearing even more white and flawless, like ice and snow.

"Such beautiful fingers, Ms. Shaw’s hands are naturally meant for playing the violin, painting."

Claire Shaw looked up dazedly, meeting the gentle glow in Ethan’s eyes, like sunlight scattered on the lake surface, a breeze blowing past, dropping a few peach blossoms beside the lake, rippling the water with gentle waves.

She bit her lip, lacking confidence as she asked, "Don’t you think I’m useless?"

In her mother’s eyes, singing and dancing only served as bait to lure men; failing that, she’s merely a worthless waste.

Owen Crawford deemed her talents as mere show, for the world is never short of excellent people, she’s merely a drop in the ocean among the ordinary.

The biggest value of a flower vase without background is being reduced to a wealthy person’s toy.

Only Ethan is different; his eyes wrote sincerity all over, to him Claire Shaw is a unique treasure.

He raised his hand lightly brushing over Claire Shaw’s lips, his large palm gently cradling her face.

"In my heart, Ms. Shaw is the most perfect woman in the world, cooking or fish-killing does not affect your perfection, you are you, unique and immeasurably precious worldwide, besides, these hands can do many things except kill fish."

Claire Shaw felt elated as he praised her, blinking, "Hmm?"

But then saw a sly smile appear on his lips, his large hand placing her small hand on his waist, "Ms. Shaw’s hands can make me happy."

This guy can steer onto the highway in an instant, leaving Claire Shaw blushing furiously, "You, you..."

People usually elevate the last sentence to highlight the theme.

But he takes a sharp turn, leading her straight into a ditch.

Ethan lowered his head, nibbling her earlobe, "Ms. Shaw, touch me."