the fire in her voice and was glad for it. The vulnerability of that other voice, the one belonging to this new woman named Elizabeth, made him unsteady.
“You know, I’ve eaten monkey brains before. They’re not bad.”
She made a gagging sound. “That is so gross. I can’t believe you’d eat something like that,” she said, stacking the items he’d asked for on the counter.
“You can blame a friend of mine for daring me. Your knives suck,” he commented as he drew one out of the block and ran his finger over the blade. “I can’t cut shi—”
Okay, he’d caught that one. A minor victory.
“How sweet of you to say,” she replied, vinegar in her voice this time, making him smile. “Anything else you want to insult around here?”
When she leaned on the counter, gazing at him like that with her big baby blues, he was glad he was no longer holding the knife. He might have cut himself like a first-year at the Culinary Institute of America. “Nope.”
With that, he busied himself with slicing the bananas, heating the pan, dropping in the butter, and then adding the bananas. At least her stove was gas. If it had been electric, he would have refused to cook on it. She handed him the cinnamon, which he knew was likely as old as a used car, but he dusted the bananas with it anyway, inhaling deeply. Even old cinnamon had an alluring scent, and when a vision of a naked Vixen sitting on his lap as she fed him cinnamon rolls popped into his head, he almost burned his finger on the side of the pan.
“Where’s your sugar?” he asked finally, pleased with the way it was coming together. He wouldn’t even dare hope she had simple brown sugar, not after seeing the sparseness of her refrigerator.
“I don’t have any,” she told him, and it was hard to miss the glee in her voice.
“You don’t have sugar? What kind of human being are you, anyway? You mystify me,” he told her, and it wasn’t just because she didn’t buy sugar.
Silence reigned for a minute as the bananas sizzled on the stove. Yeah, she knew there was a deeper meaning to his words. They might have pressed pause on their conversation, but this was a conversation—the things said and unsaid, the meaning behind their gestures and glances.
“I have honey,” she finally said, opening the cabinet and setting a half-filled smiling bear—dear God—beside him.
“Even the bees are embarrassed by this honey, but at least you have something sweet. Now I won’t have to report you to the Basic Ingredients Police.”
Her mouth twitched, and he felt it sparking between them again.
That explosive connection. The simple joy of being in her presence. Something he’d never felt with another woman.
“Feel free. I’ve always loved a man in uniform.”
It was an old joke between them, and he stilled at her casual use of it. She’d said his chef uniform was a turn-on, which he hadn’t heard too often. It wasn’t like an armed services uniform or anything, and it always smelled like an assortment of food.
Was she feeling it between them too? Did she want them to act on their old passion? Hell, he wasn’t ready for that. Okay, his body was ready, but…
“Bourbon?” he rasped out, drizzling the honey over the bananas and watching it bubble golden brown.
“In the liquor cabinet. I’ll get it.”
After she left the room, he kicked the stove and yelped since he’d forgotten he was barefoot.
Elizabeth was as beautiful and intriguing as Vixen had been. More so. And the old feelings were as fresh as his dinner special had been tonight.
He’d wanted closure, but he’d gotten anything but.
Coming here had been a bad idea.
Chapter 2
As Elizabeth headed to the 1930s Art Deco bar cabinet, she rubbed her hands over her arms, trying to banish the goosebumps. She’d worried her late-night visitor was Ryan James, who hadn’t stopped pestering her about going out with him again after one bad date. But the muted porch light had illuminated
“You know, I’ve eaten monkey brains before. They’re not bad.”
She made a gagging sound. “That is so gross. I can’t believe you’d eat something like that,” she said, stacking the items he’d asked for on the counter.
“You can blame a friend of mine for daring me. Your knives suck,” he commented as he drew one out of the block and ran his finger over the blade. “I can’t cut shi—”
Okay, he’d caught that one. A minor victory.
“How sweet of you to say,” she replied, vinegar in her voice this time, making him smile. “Anything else you want to insult around here?”
When she leaned on the counter, gazing at him like that with her big baby blues, he was glad he was no longer holding the knife. He might have cut himself like a first-year at the Culinary Institute of America. “Nope.”
With that, he busied himself with slicing the bananas, heating the pan, dropping in the butter, and then adding the bananas. At least her stove was gas. If it had been electric, he would have refused to cook on it. She handed him the cinnamon, which he knew was likely as old as a used car, but he dusted the bananas with it anyway, inhaling deeply. Even old cinnamon had an alluring scent, and when a vision of a naked Vixen sitting on his lap as she fed him cinnamon rolls popped into his head, he almost burned his finger on the side of the pan.
“Where’s your sugar?” he asked finally, pleased with the way it was coming together. He wouldn’t even dare hope she had simple brown sugar, not after seeing the sparseness of her refrigerator.
“I don’t have any,” she told him, and it was hard to miss the glee in her voice.
“You don’t have sugar? What kind of human being are you, anyway? You mystify me,” he told her, and it wasn’t just because she didn’t buy sugar.
Silence reigned for a minute as the bananas sizzled on the stove. Yeah, she knew there was a deeper meaning to his words. They might have pressed pause on their conversation, but this was a conversation—the things said and unsaid, the meaning behind their gestures and glances.
“I have honey,” she finally said, opening the cabinet and setting a half-filled smiling bear—dear God—beside him.
“Even the bees are embarrassed by this honey, but at least you have something sweet. Now I won’t have to report you to the Basic Ingredients Police.”
Her mouth twitched, and he felt it sparking between them again.
That explosive connection. The simple joy of being in her presence. Something he’d never felt with another woman.
“Feel free. I’ve always loved a man in uniform.”
It was an old joke between them, and he stilled at her casual use of it. She’d said his chef uniform was a turn-on, which he hadn’t heard too often. It wasn’t like an armed services uniform or anything, and it always smelled like an assortment of food.
Was she feeling it between them too? Did she want them to act on their old passion? Hell, he wasn’t ready for that. Okay, his body was ready, but…
“Bourbon?” he rasped out, drizzling the honey over the bananas and watching it bubble golden brown.
“In the liquor cabinet. I’ll get it.”
After she left the room, he kicked the stove and yelped since he’d forgotten he was barefoot.
Elizabeth was as beautiful and intriguing as Vixen had been. More so. And the old feelings were as fresh as his dinner special had been tonight.
He’d wanted closure, but he’d gotten anything but.
Coming here had been a bad idea.
Chapter 2
As Elizabeth headed to the 1930s Art Deco bar cabinet, she rubbed her hands over her arms, trying to banish the goosebumps. She’d worried her late-night visitor was Ryan James, who hadn’t stopped pestering her about going out with him again after one bad date. But the muted porch light had illuminated
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