quick smile. “I was just thinking it’s good that you have a lot of chicken and fish in your freezer if you want to eat healthy.”
Which had nothing to do with her shivering, but he didn’t call her on it.
“I wike fish!”
He smiled at Christie before his gaze rebounded to Erin’s. “I do, too, but we are going to have beef once in a while, aren’t we? Maybe the occasional pork chop?”
“Of course,” she laughed, “I work for you. You can have anything you like.”
The flicker of desire in his eyes brought back the disturbing flush that was now becoming second nature to Erin whenever she was around him. It was a look that made her think of warm nights and soft whispers, even though daylight still shone through the window over the sink.
Looking away, she busied herself searching for more silverware beneath the bubbles. “I don’t think an occasional steak or roast will do any harm.”
“Good,” he murmured. “I’d hate to think we were raising steers for the fun of it.” He pushed away from the sink. “I’m going to catch the news with Amos. Don’t dry the dishes—just leave them in the drainer. I’ll put them away later.”
“I can dry them. There aren’t that many.”
But Mac was nodding at Christie. “Leave them. Take her back to the house and get her into some dry clothes. It’s after six now. Your time’s your own.”
“All right,” she answered, realizing that Mac might want some private time with his granddad. She pulled the plug in the sink and lifted Christie down from the chairs, ignoring her flailing and whining for more playtime. “I’ll just finish up and see you in the morning.”
Mac’s gaze fell to the front of her shirt…and clouded.
Erin looked down.
There was a wet, child-size handprint darkening the light-blue fabric of her blouse. It couldn’t have been more strategically placed on Erin’s left breast if she’d handed Christie a diagram. Reddening, she looked back up at Mac, who finally realized he was staring.
Clearing his throat, he turned away, echoed her “See you in the morning,” then disappeared into the living room where Amos had suddenly turned up the volume on the TV set.
Erin swallowed hard as she dried the water splashes from Amos’s sturdy chairs, then returned them to the table. Because from the way Mac had stared at her, there was no mistaking the fact that, given the chance, he would have gladly made that wet mark on her breast man-size.
Chapter 3
The night air was still warm, fragrant with pine when Mac arrived at eight-thirty. Erin felt more than a little awkward when he knocked and waited to be admitted into his own home. Or maybe she was uneasy because darkness was falling, Christie was already asleep…and the last look they’d shared had been laced with tension. She mentioned her initial reservation as Mac walked inside.
His boots thudded softly as he crossed the large circular rug on the hardwood floor. “For the time being, this is your home,” he answered. “I’d never invade your privacy by just walking in.” He glanced around as he stepped into the office off the foyer and clicked on the small gooseneck lamp atop the computer desk. “Is Christie asleep?”
“Yes. She crashed around seven-thirty.”
“How does she like her bed?”
“She loves it—but she’s not in it.”
“No?”
She watched him frown at the collection of boxes he’d shuttled from the spare room to this one. Then, digging in, he moved a maple chair to the computer area and began stacking the boxes in the far corner of the room. Every movement showcased the powerful flex and play of his back muscles through his white polo shirt.
Erin gave herself a mental shake and answered his question. “She has fun lining up her dollies and stuffed animals on it for their naps, but I think she feels more secure sleeping with me right now. She’ll adjust. She always does.”
Mac slanted her another of those critical looks, then left the pile of boxes to turn on his computer. He motioned Erin into the office chair while he pulled the spare maple one close. Tiny blips of excitement danced along her nerve endings as he dragged his chair even closer, and the shifting air carried a scent to her that was part fresh citrus and all musky man.
“It’s pretty standard,” he said. A dozen bright icons appeared on the monitor. “Click on the telephone icon to connect to the Internet, then when the search engine comes up, you’ll see another icon on the task bar. Click on the little mailbox, and you’re in.” He paused. “Go ahead.”
When his e-mail page came up, he reached across her, the dark hair on his forearm brushing her arm. With a few quick keystrokes, he entered his password and set the computer to remember it. Then he sank back in his chair. “Okay, my password’s saved, now you can use it whenever you want. All I ask is that you use the start button to park it before you shut it off.”
“I will. That’s the way my laptop’s set up, too. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Do you want to post a message now?”
She shook her head. No, she wanted to write to Lynn, but she didn’t want him anywhere in the vicinity when she did it. She needed privacy when she contacted people from her past. She was fairly certain she could contact Lynn safely using Mac’s e-mail address. “If it’s okay with you, I’ll do it later.”
“Sure.” With a few more keystrokes, he shut it down, then turned to her as if to say something more. Erin felt her pulse quicken as their gazes locked and the temperature in the small, intimately lit room inched up several degrees.
Abruptly she pushed to her feet. This was ridiculous. She wasn’t sure what was going through his mind, but she knew what was happening in hers, and it was dangerous to remain sitting here. But while putting some distance between them was the best solution, she couldn’t ask him to leave his own home. “I made a cinnamon coffee cake earlier if you’d like to have a slice.” At least that would move them to the kitchen table where the lights were brighter, and they’d be sitting a respectable distance from each other.
The look in Mac’s dark eyes told her that he’d sensed the change in temperature, too. “Coffee cake?” he repeated, slowly coming to his feet, too, and towering over her.
She nodded. “My thank-yous were getting repetitive, so I thought I’d express my gratitude with food. There’s fresh decaf to go with it. If you want.”
Abruptly, Erin shook her head in frustration. “I’m sorry. I’m not doing this very well. I seem to be playing hostess, but this is your home and I—” She pressed a finger to her lips, then removed it. “I’m just not sure what the protocol is at this point.”
“I’ve already told you, for now, it’s your home. Tell you what. If you’ll stop feeling uncomfortable about living here, I won’t feel uncomfortable if I have to get something from my rooms or check my own e-mail.” He smiled a little as he headed for the door. “As for the coffee cake, I know I’ll be sorry, but I have to pass. As I said earlier, I don’t like
