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“What do you think?” she asks, working her luscious bottom lip between her teeth.
“It looks delicious.”
“All right,” she says, sounding doubtful as she picks up a serving spoon and offers it to me.
I motion at my plate, for an inexplicable reason wanting her to do this for me. “Go ahead.”
That warm feeling in my chest intensifies when she loads a generous helping of grilled aubergine and chicken on my plate. It’s not the way my mother took care of me. This is different.
When she’s dished up for herself, I raise my glass. “To your first dinner. I’m honored.”
“Don’t be so quick to toast the food. It may be inedible.”
“It’s no big deal.” My statement is aimed at setting her at ease. “I can always make us an omelet.”
“Is that the extent of your cooking experience?” she teases as she picks up her glass.
“More or less. Like you, I always had people who cooked for me.” I cut into the chicken. “I never needed to learn.”
Her chest expands and stills with the breath she holds as I bring a bite to my mouth. I chew slowly, taking my time to savor the meat. The chicken is crispy on the outside and tender inside.
“Perfect,” I say when I’ve swallowed.
She blows out a sigh. “Really?”
I grin. “Best chicken I’ve had.”
A pretty flush grows over her cheeks. “There’s no need to patronize me.”
“I’m serious.” I spear a piece of aubergine onto my fork. “It’s delicious.”
“Thank you,” she says, looking vulnerable and grateful and way too beautiful.
“But I meant it when I said I could hire a chef. You need a housekeeper too.”
She stills with her fork halfway to her mouth. “A housekeeper?”
“I was going to bring up the subject later, but now is as good a time as any. I assume you’d like to do the interviews.”
She puts down her fork. “I don’t need a housekeeper.”
“It’s a big house.” I sample the aubergine. Not bad. “There’s a lot to clean.”
Lowering her gaze, she picks up her fork again. “I like my privacy.”
“There’s enough space to accommodate a couple of live-in personnel without compromising your privacy. They can stay in the rooms at the other end of the hallway. The staff will be discreet. You won’t even know they’re here.”
“I’ll know,” she says, pushing her food around on her plate. “Trust me.”
I study her as I sip my wine. Her reluctance to have people in the house surprises me. I expected her to welcome the idea. “Why are you so set against having help?”
“It’s not the help.” She lifts her gaze back to mine. “I just want to be able to walk naked through the house if I like. Having strangers around is inhibiting.”
Ah. I think I understand. “Is this about how you’re supposed to greet me?”
She winces. It’s obviously a sore point for her. “Not only.”
“Because that’s easy to work around. I can order them to retire to their rooms after a working day.”
