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I swallowed visibly as I urged my heart to start beating again.
When my eyes finally found their way to his, he grinned widely at me and said, “Hey.”
“Hey,” I repeated dumbly, my voice rough due to the lump that had formed in my throat.
My body screamed for me to attack him, right there in the open doorway, and all he’d done thus far was smile at me. I backed up a few steps, not only to let him in, but also to give myself some distance before I did something crazy.
I heard him chuckle slightly as he walked past me, and I could swear I felt that low throaty sound deep in my belly. It felt really nice.
I shut the door softly behind him. I stood there for a moment, still facing the door, eyes shut, and took a deep, calming breath. I’d been working all day, so I hadn’t had a chance to fret about what him coming over tonight might mean. But, now that he was here, freshly groomed and smelling of hickory and spice, my body was suddenly radiating with nerves.
Calm down … it’s just sex, I assured myself as I breathed.
I turned to find Brock watching me, a small smile playing on his lips.
“Everything okay?” he asked, amusement filling his tone.
“Yes, of course,” I said a little haughtily, embarrassed to have been caught trying to gather my wits. Did the man miss nothing?
I breezed past him and asked, “Would you like a drink?”
I sure as heck needed one.
I felt him follow me as I made a beeline for the kitchen counter, where a bottle of Pinot Noir had been left out to breathe.
I poured a generous glass, then turned to find him standing closer than acceptable. I tried to take a step back and my backside hit the edge of the counter.
“You have beer?” Brock asked when I held the glass out to him.
I was raised to pay attention to little details, so although he’d had a margarita at dinner the other night, I remembered that he’d been drinking beer that night at the bar, so I’d picked some up when I’d gotten the items I’d need for dinner. Still, I figured it couldn’t hurt to at least attempt to get him to try a more sophisticated beverage.
I put the glass down and maneuvered around him to open the refrigerator, pulling out a bottle of Fat Tire and handing it to him. He looked from the offered beer, back to me, his face suddenly intense.
“That’s my favorite beer,” he said softly.
I was suddenly nervous by his reaction, so I smoothed my hair as I replied, “I remember you drinking it at the bar.”
Without warning, he took a large step, bringing his body flush with mine. He dipped his head swiftly, touching his soft lips to mine. Surprised, my lips parted slightly, then wider when Brock ran his tongue gently along the seam. Before I could sink fully into the kiss, he broke away, taking the beer from my hand as he took a step back.
I opened my eyes and my body warmed at his pleased expression.
“This is nice,” he said with a tip of his beer to me, bringing it to his lips and taking a long drink. I forced my gaze away from those tantalizing lips and reached for my wine, taking a necessary, if unladylike, gulp.
“What’s for dinner?” he asked, looking around the kitchen curiously, as I stood there holding my glass clutched in my hands like a lifeline.
“Meatloaf, potatoes, and corn,” I mumbled, wondering if it would look bad if I threw back another mouthful of wine.
“You made me meatloaf?” he asked, his tone causing me to pull my eyes from the red liquid courage in my hands. His expression slightly amazed.
“Yeah, why?”
“I don’t know,” Brock said with a shrug. “I guess I expected something like Coq au Vin.”
“I can make that,” I said with a smile. “But I thought after a long day at work, you might appreciate meat and potatoes more.”
“You’re right,” he replied, bridging the gap between us. “What else can you make?”
He was so close I had to tip my head back to look at him. I placed a hand on his chest to steady myself, enjoying the deep thud of his heart, as I responded, “I can follow a recipe pretty well, so I can make just about anything.”
