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“I should ask you the same thing,” he said, pointedly looking around the kitchen. Ingredients, in containers and out, covered the marble counters. Every bowl he owned was piled in the sink. “You still haven’t told me how you lost your shirt.”
She stepped back and folded her arms across her chest, pushing her breasts upward. His reasons for keeping his hands off her fled the room. One lick. There was no harm in that right? He’d already seen a lot more than her chocolate-covered stomach.
“You first,” she said. “You’re bleeding.”
Eric sighed and closed his eyes. “I was trying to move out of the path of a falling tree and a branch grazed my arm.” He’d gotten sloppy, but he refused to admit that to Georgia. She could probably figure it out. She was born and raised around loggers. “It looks worse than it is. The cut isn’t deep.”
“You should put something on it.”
“I’ll clean it up when I shower.” He eyed the path of chocolate again. “Your turn. What happened in here?”
“Nate needs to bring a snack to school tomorrow morning. One of the teachers suggested muffins. Nate wanted cupcakes. So we compromised on banana bread muffins with chocolate frosting.” She looked around the room as if she hadn’t realized the extent of the mess until he’d started questioning her. “I thought I’d make them while he napped and we could frost them together. You know, less mess that way. Without the toddler helping.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure about that?”
“I know. More is hard to imagine. I don’t have a lot of experience with baking. Not in a kitchen like this.” She waved at his state-of-the-art cooking space filled with stainless steel appliances. The best money could buy. Like her, he had no clue what to do with any of it. His family had been one step above Liam and Georgia’s on the middle-class ladder, but they’d never had money to spend on fancy kitchen gadgets.
“Did you know you have two mixers?” she continued.
“No, I didn’t. Marie handles the cooking,” he said, referring to the cook/housekeeper who’d worked for him since he built the house five years earlier. He managed breakfast, or relied on Georgia, but Marie prepared everything else.
“Today is Thursday, Marie’s day off,” Georgia said. “So turning to her for help wasn’t an option.”
“Why didn’t you grab something at the store?”
She picked the mixing bowl up from the table and turned back to the mess on the counter. “I thought it was important that Nate bring something homemade. The other kids, they all have moms to make their snacks.”
Her words tore into him, cutting deeper than the scratch on his arm. Georgia might be struggling to deal with her issues in her own stubborn way, but she was trying her best for his nephew.
“Thank you.” It was all he could manage. The emotions—gratitude, desire, grief—added to his exhaustion and overloaded his senses.
She nodded. “I’ll clean up the mess. I promise. After I get these in the oven.”
“Marie can tackle cleanup in the morning,” he said. “Just put on a shirt. The crew will be here soon. We’re having a cookout this afternoon for my guys and some of the firefighters. It starts in two hours.”
Eric headed for the door, not waiting for her response. He needed to get out of here. A kind, caring, and half-naked woman spelled trouble. One more minute in this kitchen and he might forget that h
e couldn’t touch her.
GEORGIA WEAVED THROUGH the crowd of men, careful to avoid Eric. Her palms grew clammy, and warning bells went off in her head. There were too many people between the house and the pond. Her damaged mind equated crowds with danger, an increased threat of attack.
In Afghanistan.
But she wasn’t there. Not anymore. She knew that. Still, shaking the fear—it wasn’t easy.
Her breaths became short and shallow. She wanted to escape, but Nate was running around, playing with one of the guys’ golden retriever. The men had all tossed back a few beers, and with the pond so close, she wanted to be the one watching Nate. She headed for the edge of the green lawn down near the pond. From here, she could see Nate and run to him if he approached the water. And she could breathe again.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Eric break away from a group of men. She abruptly turned and stepped off the cleared, green lawn and into the wood area at its edge. She could still track Nate’s movements and hear the crowd. But she wouldn’t have to make small talk with Eric and his buddies. Not when she was still wishing she’d kept her shirt on and her mouth shut in his kitchen.
She’d been so focused on making the perfect muffin from scratch that she’d hadn’t given a second thought to stripping off her T-shirt when she spilled batter down her front. Then he’d walked in, catching her off guard. To make a bad situation worse, she’d spoken without thinking. Her words had pushed on his grief. He’d come home tired and injured. The last thing he’d needed from her was a reminder of his sister’s death and all Nate had lost. But that was exactly what she’d given him.
Eric stopped by the tree line, chatting with a few of the firefighters. He had changed into clean jeans, a Moore Timber T-shirt, and cowboy boots for the picnic. In one hand, he held a beer. To most people, he probably looked relaxed, having conquered a forest fire hours earlier. But even from a distance Georgia could see the tension in his body, in the way he gripped his beer and scanned the crowd every few minutes while listening to his friends.
Leaning against the thick trunk of a pine tree, Georgia looked away, focusing on Nate. She didn’t have a clue how long she’d been standing there when she heard footsteps crunching the pine needles and fallen leaves. Her muscles tensed until she spotted Eric. He’d slipped into the trees and was moving toward her, his steps intent and determined.
“Are you all right?” Despite his broad shoulders, all six feet plus of him managed to stand in the tree’s shadow, virtually hidden from the people on the grass.
She nodded. “Fine.”
