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He stared at her. ‘What bowl?’
For a moment he thought he saw the glimmer of a smile touch her full mouth. ‘The bowl for the sugar, Dr Whittaker.’
‘Oh…’ He stared down at his hands and then gave a helpless smile. ‘I’m a hopeless liar.’
‘Don’t berate yourself for that,’ she said quietly, a sad smile touching her eyes. ‘Being able to lie convincingly is not top of the list of qualities I most admire in a man.’
She was obviously referring to Sam’s father and Joel felt his guts tighten as they always did when he thought about what had happened to her.
‘Look…’ His smile faded and he treated himself to a long look into her amazing green eyes. ‘The truth is, I don’t know what I’m doing here. I shouldn’t be here, I know that.’
He gave a sigh and closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them she was staring at him, her gaze clear and direct.
‘So why are you?’
‘Because I needed to see you. I wanted to know that you and Sam were all right.’
Her smile did strange things to his insides. ‘That’s kind of you. He’s asleep.’
‘That’s good.’ He stood awkwardly in the doorway, reminding himself that she was a single mother with a child. He didn’t mess around with single mothers. Especially not one as gentle and vulnerable as Lucy. His family were right. She really wasn’t his type. ‘And how are you?’
‘Fine,’ she said, but one look at the dark shadows under her eyes told him that she was lying.
‘Have you had supper?’ He couldn’t believe he’d just asked her that question. It was as if his brain and his hormones were operating separately. Get away from her, Whittaker! Leave the girl alone. ‘I’m a good cook.’
She looked at him warily. ‘I—I’m not hungry.’
‘You’ve got to eat,’ he said gruffly, frowning as he saw how tired she looked. ‘Give me five minutes to scoop some stuff up from my kitchen and I’ll be down to cook you something.’
Her gorgeous full mouth moved into a slight smile. ‘Surely you have more exciting things to do with your evening than play chef for me, Dr Whittaker?’
‘I’m at a loose end,’ he lied. ‘So—do you eat pasta?’
Her head tilted to one side, and he knew instantly that she was looking for an ulterior motive for his proposal.
‘Just pasta,’ he said quickly, placing a hand in the middle of his chest and giving her a reassuring smile. ‘No funny business. Scout’s honour.’
She laughed. A lovely, bubbly sound that made him want to laugh, too. ‘You’re too big to be a Scout.’ She watched him for a moment, her smile fading slowly. ‘Why on earth would you want to cook me pasta, Dr Whittaker?’
‘I want to show off my culinary skills,’ he said, flexing his muscles and giving her a wink. ‘Trust me. You’ll be impressed. My mother taught me.’
She was still laughing, but he could see that she was hesitating.
He took advantage of her indecision. ‘Go on,’ he pushed, ‘I’m offering to put a meal in front of you.’
‘All right,’ she said finally, her eyes slightly shy, and he grinned.
‘You w
on’t regret it. Give me five minutes to raid my fridge…’
He sprinted up the stairs to his penthouse before she could change her mind, loaded the ingredients into a bag, added a bottle of wine and then made his way back to her flat.
He tapped gently on her door and she opened it almost immediately. She’d changed out of her uniform into a pair of faded jeans, and her dark hair flowed loose over her fluffy cream jumper.
Trying valiantly to ignore the way her jeans clung to her long legs, Joel followed her through to the kitchen.
‘OK.’ He rolled up his sleeves and washed his hands. ‘Do you mind breathing garlic over everyone tomorrow?’
