spooned rice from the cooker onto the warmed plates, and put them on the table.
“This looks great,” Jenna commented, leaning forward to inhale deeply. “And smells even better. To be honest, I think your skills with food far outweigh mine with flowers. I can barely reheat a TV dinner without burning something.”
Dylan feigned horror. “Wash your mouth out. TV dinners? You’re going to have to do much better than that for the baby.”
He reached for a ladle and spooned a generous portion of the beef onto her plate before serving himself. When she didn’t immediately pick up her fork, he sat back and looked at her. Her lips had firmed into a mutinous line and there was a frown of annoyance on her forehead.
“What did I say?”
“I didn’t come here to be told what to do. Maybe it’s better if I go.”
She pushed back her chair a little, but before she could go any farther he reached out and grabbed her hand.
“Okay, truce. I will try not to tell you what to eat, but you have to admit, for me it comes with the territory. It’s what I do. It’s in my nature to want to feed people well.”
It was also in his nature to want to lift her from her chair, march her to the nearest accommodatingly soft surface and relive some of the passion they’d shared. She looked down at where his fingers were curled around her wrist, and he slowly eased his grip and let her go.
“As long as we’re clear on that,” she muttered, scooting her chair closer to the table again and lifting her fork.
She scooped up a mouthful and brought it to her lips. His brain ceased to function as she closed her eyes and moaned in pleasure. Other body parts had no such difficulty.
“That’s so good,” she said, opening her eyes again.
For a second Dylan allowed himself to be lost in their chocolate-brown depths. Just a second. Then he forced himself to look away and apply himself to his own meal.
“Thanks, I aim to please,” he said with a nonchalance he was far from feeling.
It didn’t seem to matter what he did or what he said, or even how she reacted to any of it—he was drawn to her on a level he’d never experienced before. Sure, that could play to his advantage, but he had the sneaking suspicion that Jenna Montgomery was a great deal more hardheaded than her feminine presence at his table suggested.
“Home grown?” she asked, spearing some beef and popping it into her mouth.
For a second he was distracted by her lips closing around the fork, then the enticing half smile they curved into as she tasted and chewed.
“Yeah, from the Big Blue. Nothing but the best.”
“Your cousin runs it, doesn’t he? Chance Lassiter?”
“And very well, too. It’s in his blood.”
And therein lay the rub. While he and Sage had been raised Lassiters, they weren’t Lassiter by birth. Not like Chance, not like their sister, Angelica. It was one of the reasons why this baby meant so much more to Dylan than he had ever imagined. This child was a part of his legacy, his mark on the world. It was all very well gaining fame and fortune for doing something you excelled at and loved, but raising a child and setting him or her on a path for life—nothing compared to that.
“Have you thought about what you’re going to do when the baby is born?” he asked, deliberately changing the subject.
“Do?”
“About work.”
“I’ll manage. I figure that in the early stages I should be able to keep the baby at work with me.”
He nodded, turning the idea over in his mind. “Yes, sure—initially. I think that would be a good idea.”
“I’m sorry?”
He looked at her in puzzlement. But his confusion didn’t last long.
“What you think should matter to me, why, exactly?”
He let his fork clatter onto his plate. “Well, it is my baby, too. I have some say in what happens to him or her.”
Even though he’d tried to keep his voice neutral, some of his frustration must have leaked through.
“Dylan, as far as I’m concerned, while you have rights to be a part of this baby’s life, it doesn’t mean you have a say in how I bring it up.”
“Oh? And how do you see that working? Just let me jet in every now and then, have a visit and then jet out again?”
“Pretty much. After all, you live most of the time in L.A., or wherever else in the world you’re flying off to—not here where the baby and I will be. Obviously, I won’t stand in your way when you want to see him or her, though, as long as it’s clear I’m the one raising the child.”
That was not how things were going to happen. Dylan’s hands curled into fists on the table and took in a deep, steadying breath. “That’s good of you,” he said, as evenly as he could. “Although I have another suggestion, one that I find far more palatable, and which will be better for all of us.”
She looked at him in surprise. “Oh? What’s that?”
“That we get married and raise the baby together.”
To his chagrin she laughed. Not just laughed but snorted and snuffled with it as if she couldn’t contain her mirth.
“It’s not so impossible to think of, is it?” he demanded.
“Impossible? It’s ridiculous, Dylan. We barely know one another.”
He nodded in agreement. “True. That’s something easily rectified.”
All humor fled from her face. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“Never more so.”
“No. It would never work. Not in a million years.”
“Why not? We already know we’re...” he paused a moment for effect, his eyes skimming her face, her throat and lower “...compatible.”
“Great sex isn’t the sole basis for a compatible marriage,” she protested.
“It’s a start,” he said, his voice deepening.
Hot color danced in her cheeks—due to anger or something else? he wondered. Something like desire, perhaps?
“Not for me it isn’t. Look, can we agree to disagree on the subject of marriage? I’ve already said I won’t stand in your way when it comes to seeing the child. Can we leave it at that for now?”
“Sure, for now. But, Jenna, one thing you will learn about me is that I never give up. Especially not on something this important.”
Four
