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“What for?”
“I need to make a few repairs.”
He frowned at her. “What for?” he repeated. “You look good.”
“It’ll take me five minutes to look better.”
She could already wring every beat out of a man’s heart, but he shrugged and went downstairs. The dress smelled like her, he thought, sniffing at it as he hunted down her bag in the kitchen.
D.A., the rawhide—worse for wear—still clamped in his teeth, gave him a look that said: I know what you’ve been doing.
“You’re just jealous.” He carted the dress and purse upstairs where she sat on the bed, knees drawn in. When she smiled, he wanted to jump her again.
“Thanks. I’ll be right down, give you a hand.”
“Okay, but it’s no big deal.”
He left her alone before he broke and climbed on her again.
True to her word, she was done in five. “I don’t see any difference except for the dress.”
“Good. You’re not supposed to.”
“How do you like your steak?”
“Rare.”
“That makes it simple.” He tossed a couple of enormous potatoes in the microwave, punched buttons, then pulled the salad out of the fridge.
“Would you like me to dress that?”
“I got a bottle of Italian and a bottle of blue cheese.”
Considering, she poked her head in the fridge, took stock. “I can do better, if you’ve got olive oil.”
“Yeah. Up there.” He pointed to a cabinet.
She opened the cabinet, found a couple other things that met with her approval and took them out. “Little bowl, a whisk?”
“I got the bowl.”
“That and a fork then.”
She went to work, smooth and quick, and looked nothing like a woman who’d fogged his brain only minutes before. He left her to throw the steaks on. When he stepped back in, she was tossing the salad. “I couldn’t find your salad set.”
“I don’t have one. I use forks.”
“Well then.” She angled the forks she’d used in the bowl.
“I thought we’d eat out on the deck.”
“Perfect.” She carried out the salad, went back for plates, flatware. By the time he pulled the steaks off the grill, she’d set the table—with the flowers—topped off their wine. She’d managed to find his butter, sour cream, salt, pepper. And plated the potatoes.
He had to admit, the table looked just a little classier than it would have left to him. “What was your talent in that beauty pageant? Magic tricks?”
She only smiled as he slid her steak on her plate. “This looks great.”
She served his salad, then served herself before lifting her glass, tapping it to his. “To long summer nights. My favorite.”
“I’m a fan. What was your talent?” he repeated. “That’s part of the deal, right? I bet you tossed flaming batons.”
“You’d be wrong.”
She sipped her wine, picked up her fork.
“Give it up, princess. I’ll just get Owen to find out. He’s better at searching the Internet than I am.”
“I sang.”
“You can sing?”
She lifted her shoulders as she ate. “I didn’t win the talent portion.”
“You can’t sing.”
“I can sing,” she countered with some force. “I can also play the piano, and tap. But I wanted to focus on one element.” She smiled as she ate her salad. “And the girl who tapped while tossing flaming batons won the talent.”
“You’re making that up.”
“You could search the Internet for it.”
“How’d you win if you lost the talent?”
“By sweeping the rest. I killed the interview.”
“I bet you killed the swimsuit deal.”
She smiled again, that slow, sultry look. “You could say so. Anyway, long time ago.”
“I bet you still have the crown.”
“My mother has it. More important, I got the scholarship. That was the goal. I didn’t like the idea of putting myself and my parents into debt. They already had two children going to college, and moving to grad school. Winning made a big difference, and I earned it. Those pageants are brutal. Still, I earned and I learned.”
“Sing something.”
“No.” Flustered and amused, she shook her head. “I’m eating. The steak’s perfect, by the way. Hey!” she made a grab, but he was fast, and pulled her plate up and out of reach.
“Sing for your supper.”
“You’re being ridiculous.”
“I want to hear you, judge for myself.”
“Fine, fine.” She thought a moment, then gave him a couple bars of Adele’s “Rolling in the Deep,” since it had played in her car on the drive over.
Throaty, sexy, rich. He wondered why he was surprised. “You can sing. Keep going.”
“I’m hungry.”
“I don’t have a piano.” He set her plate in front of her again. “But you’re definitely going to tap-dance after dinner.”
Her eyes narrowed when he tossed a bite of steak to the dog. “Your mother taught you better than that.”
“She’s not here. What else can you do?”
Hope shook her head again. “No. Your turn. What can you do besides what I already know?”
“I can kick.”
“I saw you kick for your mother’s dog.”
“That’s nothing. I kicked the game-winning field goal my senior year—championship win.” Long time ago, too, he thought, but still. “Sixty-three yards.”
“I’m guessing that’s impressive. The yardage.”
“Sugar, as far as I know, the longest ever kicked in high school ball’s seventy yards.”
“I’m impressed then. Did you keep it up in college?”
“The scholarship helped. There were three of us, too. College wasn’t my thing, but I gave it a shot.”
“Did you ever consider going pro?”
“No.” No passion for it, he thought now. No gut-deep drive. “It was a game. I liked it. But I wanted what I’ve got.”
“It’s nice when that works out. When you get what you want. We’re both lucky there.”
“So far.”
The light softened toward dusk as they finished the meal, lingered over wine. She rose to clear as the first fireflies winked in the green shadows.
“I’ll get them in the morning,” he told her.
“I’ll get them now. I can’t relax if things like dishes aren’t done.”
“Maybe you need therapy.”
“When things are in their place, the world’s in balance. When they’re done, you can take me to the movies. What are we watching?”
“We’ll find something.” For now he liked just watching her. “You want popcorn?”
“There’s that balance again,” she said as she loaded the dishwasher. “Movies. Popcorn. One without the other is just wrong.”
“Butter and salt?”
She started to refuse, then gave in. “What the hell. It’s my night off. And I’m going to have a fitness center in my backyard before too much longer.”
“Do you have any of those little outfits?”
She slanted him a look from under her long, spiky bangs. “I do. But the opening will give me an excuse to buy new. Right now nobody sees them but me when I find time to put on a workout DVD.”
He put the bag of popcorn in the microwave, glanced at her. “You’re going to want the corn in a bowl, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I am. And a plate for the brookies.”
“Just more dishes to deal with.”
“It’s a process, Ryder. Maybe I should check in with Carolee before we settle into movies and popcorn.”
“Does she know where you are?”
“Yes, of course.”
“She’s got the number if she needs anything. Put it away.”
