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“It was my idea,” he continued. “And it’s a ridiculous thing to quarrel over. You’d never have done all that shopping if I—if I hadn’t—”
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing.” Nothing, unless he kept wondering what she had on under the dress. How come he hadn’t thought of that before? How come he hadn’t seen any underwear going in and out of that fitting room?
“Well, I’m not keeping the clothes.”
“Yes, you are.”
“No, I’m not.”
“You are, and that’s the end of it.” Jake ripped off his jacket and tossed it on a chair. What did it matter, what she was wearing under the dress? He didn’t care. For all he gave a damn, she could be wearing red flannel long johns. “I’m going to start a fire. How about you check out the kitchen and see if you can rustle up something to eat?”
“Oh, I see. You’re the man, so you get to build the fire. I’m the woman, so I get to open a can of soup.”
Jake threw out his arms. “You want to start the fire? Great. Be my guest. I’ll be more than happy to switch jobs.”
Emily lifted her chin. “I’d just as soon do the cooking, thank you. Why risk ptomaine poisoning, at your hands?”
She turned on her heel. Jake glared at her. “Women,” he muttered, and then he marched into the living room, squatted down before the fireplace, and set to work.
Half an hour later, Jake sat on the carpet, cross-legged, before a roaring fire.
He was feeling a little better. A good fire always did that for him. And there were interesting smells coming from the direction of the kitchen.
He sighed, thought about the endless hours that lay ahead and figured it probably made sense to make the best of them. So he added another log to the blaze, got to his feet, h for the wooden wine rack at the far end of the room, and frowned.
Red or white? He had no idea what Emily was cooking and he didn’t much feel like invading her territory to ask. It was peaceful right now; why spoil things with a question about wine?
Red, he decided. Red seemed to suit a cold, snowy night.
Jake opened a bottle of Merlot, sniffed the cork and decided he’d made a good choice. Mmm. What was she making in there? Whatever it was, it smelled wonderful. His stomach gave an anticipatory growl. Damn, he was hungry. Starved, was a better word, but then all he’d had for breakfast was that bagel. Now that he thought about it, they’d managed to blow right past lunch.
Well, that figured. Why would he have thought of lunch, when his sparrow had been turning into a songbird, right before his eyes?
Jake plucked a pair of wineglasses from the shelf.
The truth was, she’d always been a songbird. She’d just managed to keep it hidden from the world. You didn’t see the real Emily until you took a long look. A long, wonderful look. Then you realized that she was beautiful.
Jake poured the wine.
More beautiful than any woman he knew, and maybe part of the reason was that she didn’t think so.
But she was. That soft mouth. Those dark, drown-in-me eyes. That elegant little nose, the incredible hair, the lovely, curvy body... And her smile. Her laugh, so open and easy. Her honesty, her intelligence, her lack of pretension...
The amazing thing was that Pete Archer had seen the real Emily right away, despite the fact that Archer was an ass. So had Thad Jennett. And now Eric had been added to her list of admirers. Eric, who probably had his hands in the hair of more gorgeous women in a day than most men did in a year...
Was he the only guy who’d been so blind?
Jake picked up the glasses of wine and headed for the kitchen.
Emily was at the stove. She’d put on the denim apron he’d bought for himself but never quite found the courage to use, even though it said Chef on the front in bright red letters. The apron was enormous on her; the sides overlapped in the middle of her back. She was stirring something in a big pot. That was what he’d smelled and now he sniffed the air again, smiling appreciatively at the mingled aromas of garlic, tomatoes and—
“Sausage?”
Emily spun around. Heat from the stove had flushed her cheeks; steam from the pot had turned her hair into a riotous mane of curls and she had a smear of something red on her chin.
Jake felt something twist around his heart.
Beautiful, he thought, Emily, you’re so beautiful...
He stiffened. Okay, so she was beautiful. So were a million other women. And there wasn’t a reason in the world to get into an affair with her when he knew it would end badly.
Jake fixed a smile to his lips and strolled towards her.
“Vino for the cook,” he said briskly, “but only if you tell me that really is sausage I smell.”
