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“Oh dear. Do we have a crisis?”
“I’m sorry to have to tell you this, ma’am, but there is a huge crisis developing.” He nudged his hips into hers so she couldn’t miss his hard-on. Her quick little intake of breath assured him she’d missed nothing, and did unprecedented things to his heart. He had a week’s worth of precedent for what it did to the rest of him.
“Goodness…that is huge…ly alarming.” She wrapped her arms around his neck, batted her big, hazel eyes and aimed a deliberately bewildered expression at him. “Is there anything I can do to avert this impending crisis?”
All sorts of suggestions swarmed his mind, but before he could articulate a single one the oven timer buzzed.
“Whoops!” She wriggled out of his arms and adjusted her towel. “I forgot all about dinner.”
He made a grab for her. “Dinner can wait. We’re in the middle of a crisis here.”
She evaded and starting walking toward the kitchen. “No way. I cooked something special. We’re celebrating.”
Clearly, she had good news to share as well. Her eyes sparkled. Her face glowed. All the vitality coming off her only made him want her more. He caught her around the middle and snuggled her against him, his chest to her back. “Trust me, baby, whatever the occasion, I’ve got your celebration right here.” Figuring it never hurt to underscore a point, he gave her another little nudge with his hips.
Her laugh was gratifyingly breathless, but she squirmed away nonetheless. “Very tempting, but we’ll have to save that particular celebration for later. Those steaks you had in your freezer are too nice to let go to waste. I need to check them. You”—she pointed a finger at him and gave him a stern look from below lowered brows—“go shower. By the time you’re clean and changed, dinner will be ready.”
He exhaled loudly, dropped his chin to his chest, and stared at the tent in his pants. “Looks like it’s you and me, buddy.”
Low, husky, laughter trailed over her shoulder as she walked to the kitchen. He watched her go, admiring the things she did for a plain, white towel. He’d just turned toward the bathroom when the ring of his landline stalled him. “Hey, Chlo, can you get that?”
“Sure,” she said from the kitchen.
Awesome. He ducked into the bathroom and started the shower. The only people who called him on the landline were telemarketers, Mrs. Waverly, or…he winced as the last option occurred—his mom.
By the time he showered, pulled on a T-shirt and some sweats, and headed to the front of the apartment, Chloe was off the phone and standing by the table in the dining area. She’d traded the white towel for a blue V-neck that slouched off her shoulders—shoulders unmarred by the line of bra straps—and a short, gray drawstring skirt. Her wet hair spilled down her back like honey.
While he watched, she used the tip of a corkscrew to score the foil off the top of a bottle of red wine. Then she guided the screw into the cork and twisted the handle several times. She gave the cork an experimental tug and then bent over and placed the bottle between her bare feet. The move caused the little gray shirt to hike up high on her thighs, and made him wonder what, if anything, she wore beneath. She adjusted her grasp on the bottle and prepared to yank.
He came up behind her, and, because it was there, ran his hand over her ass. “Why don’t you let me handle this?”
She glanced up at him and he got a cheap thrill out of the way her eyes lingered on his mouth for an extra few seconds. “Seems like you are handling it,” she teased, wriggling her hips, before she straightened and handed him the bottle.
He took it and got to work sinking the screw properly into the cork. She disappeared into the kitchen. The cork slid out smoothly, with an audible pop. “Anything else I can help with?”
“Nope. It’s handled. Pour the wine, take a seat. I’ll have everything plated up in a sec.”
“Who was on the phone?”
She peeked through kitchen archway. “Your mom. She said to call her tomorrow.”
“Ah. Mom can be a little chatty.” Especially when she wanted intel. “Did you two talk long?”
Chloe disappeared into the kitchen again. “A little while. She divulged some secrets. I divulged some secrets.”
“Exactly what kind of secrets did my mother divulge? Because you can’t trust what she says. She’s getting senile in her old age and a lot of times she gets me, Trevor and Logan confused.” Actually, his mom was not quite sixty, sharp as a tack, and not above messing with him if the opportunity arose. Which it apparently had.
“She told me she’s amazed you became a pilot, because the first time you rode The Flying Dumbos at Disneyland, you scr
eamed like a little girl and pitched a fit.”
“That was Trevor.”
“She said you’d say that. She also mentioned this is the first time she’s ever called you and had a woman answer.”
“Hmm. That’s probably true.”
“Well, I explained I’m just a friend, and you were in the shower. She probably drew a few conclusions from that, but,” she walked out carrying two plates and placed one in front of him, “you can set her straight when you talk to her tomorrow.”
