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“Shit, I’m sorry. Run it under the cold water.” Atlas guided her over to the sink, carefully stepping around her ruined lasagna.
He turned on the tap and held her hand under the steady stream of cool water.
She hissed, flinching in pain. His grip tightened on her wrist. “It will help.”
Jasmine had lost her ability to communicate. Her body hummed with warmth like she’d had one too many glasses of wine. Her heart raced both from the shock of the burn and from his closeness. God, he smelled good. Like icy water, and the earthy musk of man.
“Do you have a Band-Aid?” Atlas asked, pulling her red finger from the water.
“Uh, yeah. Over there.” She pointed to the cabinet next to him.
He pulled a paper towel from the roll above the sink and gently dried her finger before opening the cupboard door. Atlas’s brows tugged together and then he smiled and picked out two boxes. “My Little Pony or Barbie?”
Heat flushed to her cheeks. Her eyes snapped to his, where only amusement was reflected. “Either or.”
“My Little Pony it is.” He picked one out and placed it carefully over her newly forming blister.
“Thank you.”
“I’m sorry for startling you.” Atlas backed up, sliding his hands into the dark-wash jeans pockets. Gone were the dress clothes, replaced with a T-shirt that clung to his sculpted muscles like it had been designed solely for him. Her mouth watered. He definitely had bulked up in the last four years.
“It’s alright.”
“Your dinner is ruined. Let me make it up to you and take you out,” Atlas said.
Jasmine tensed. “No, that won’t be necessary.”
His eyes flicked around the room. “How about I cook dinner for you, then?”
She rolled her eyes, a habit she hadn’t yet been able to break. “You know how to cook?” His clothes looked like they cost more than her car. Someone like Atlas probably had maids and chefs who did everything for him.
He smiled, showing off those perfect white teeth again. “I guess you’ll have to wait and see.”
Atlas was definitely flirting with her. She’d still needed some space when she saw him at the beach, but he was here for two weeks—she couldn’t hide forever. And what better way to get to know him than a conversation over a meal? She wanted to find out what kind of man he was and if Zoey would be safe with him in her life. Not to mention figure out how exactly she was going to broach the subject of her—their—daughter.
“You’re my guest. You shouldn’t be cooking me dinner.”
“I’m cooking us dinner, so really, I’m helping myself to your hospitality.” Atlas licked his lips.
Get to know him.“Alright.”
He clapped his hands together and smiled. “Do you have any of the sauce left?”
“In the pot.” She grabbed the broom and dustpan before bending to clean the mess on the floor.
“I can do that,” Atlas offered.
She shook her head. “No way. You focus on dinner. Let’s see what ya got, city boy.” The taunt left her mouth too quickly to think it through. Maybe she was being a little too comfortable with Atlas. After all, he was still her guest.
He chuckled, settling her unease. “Challenge accepted.”
* * *
Forty minutes later, they both sat at the table with plates of spaghetti and shrimp she’d had in the fridge. It wasn’t the lasagna she’d wanted for Mother’s Day, but it was delicious. Her gaze flicked over to the chair where Zoey usually sat, now occupied by Atlas. Her present company was the other blaring discrepancy in her plans.
“I never would have thought to use shrimp with spaghetti.” She twisted the pasta around her fork and took another bite.
He swallowed a sip of the beer she’d found for him. “Good though, right?”
