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Damian had said that Dylan was totally uninvolved in Lancaster International, but that didn’t appear to be the case now.
I was startled when the object of my thoughts suddenly appeared in the kitchen.
I watched from my place at the stove while he started to search for something in the drawers.
He was dressed casually in a pair of dark jeans and a jade T-shirt that hugged his muscular body and matched his mesmerizing eyes.
I had to stifle a sigh as my eyes roamed over him.
Dylan Lancaster was hot, and even though I didn’t like him, it was hard not to notice a guy who was physical perfection.
His features were still drawn and somewhat harsh, but that slightly edgy part of him did nothing to lessen his appeal.
“Do you need some help?” I asked politely.
“No,” he said gruffly. “I was looking for a menu, but I can look something up online.”
As he turned to leave, that should have been the end of our discussion.
Leave it, Kylie. Don’t do it. Everything has been just fine without any discussion between the two of you.
“It’s spaghetti night,” I told him. “If you don’t want to order out, I have plenty if you want to join me.”
Dammit!I wanted to kick myself for opening my mouth. Now, why had I felt compelled to offer him that?
I took in a deep breath as he stopped short near the entrance to the kitchen.
Oh hell, I knew why I’d done it.
There was something about Dylan that drew my empathy, whether I wanted to feel it or not.
Maybe it was the occasional despair or loneliness I could sense whenever he was close.
Yeah, he was a jerk, but I couldn’t help but think that there was more to Dylan than just his defensive exterior.
“Smells good,” he said as he turned around. “You sure you don’t mind?”
“Not at all,” I said as I reached for the noodles in the cupboard. “Do you like garlic bread with your pasta? I already made some salad, and I have some tiramisu for dessert. Not homemade, though. It came from the bakery.”
Okay, Kylie. You’re rambling just a little too much here.
I had no idea why I was so nervous, but dealing with Dylan felt a little bit like trying to wrangle an ornery bear.
“I’m good with whatever you have,” he said. “Since I’m not cooking, I can hardly be picky, and I do like any kind of bread with pasta. Can I help?”
Okay, so that offer was a surprise. “No. I’m good. There’s really nothing else to do.”
“Then I guess I showed up at the right time,” he said drily. “In time to eat without any tasks left to be done. That’s rather brilliant.”
I laughed. “I’m sure you didn’t plan it that way.”
“I didn’t,” he answered. “But it sounds like me.”
Once the noodles were done, I made both of us a plate and put the salad on the kitchen table.
Dylan got us both a bottled water and sat down across from me.
“How was your day?” I asked as we started to eat, hoping he might tell me what he did when he wasn’t at home.
