held on to his resentment, his only comfort right now, and snapped, “I’m not eating a damn thing you cook. Your reputation precedes you.”
“Fine, don’t. Starve. See if I care.” Pigheaded man, Maxie thought, and didn’t spare him a backward glance as she walked briskly down the carpeted hall. Her boot heels clicked on the wood foyer as she crossed it into her tiled kitchen.
Kyle followed, his gaze unwillingly dropping to her behind shifting inside tight jeans. He immediately cursed his preoccupation, even as he noticed that she’d changed into a long-sleeved T-shirt.
“Your compassion astounds me, Max.”
“You’ll get over it, I’m sure.” She moved to the stove, grabbing a mitt to open the oven. Bending to remove a baking tray, she set it on the cutting board, the scent of broiled salmon and Dauphine potatoes making her mouth water. With quick efficiency, she pulled two small salads from the refrigerator, positioning them by the service already set She served the food onto plates, aware of his gaze following her moves. She didn’t have to look to know he was standing near the arched entrance. His eyes had the power of touch, always had, and her frustration mounted as she struggled with opening the soda bottles.
It was only five-thirty, and she wished the day were over. Not that she’d allow his presence in her house to keep her from her routine. She had a living to make. Kyle or no Kyle.
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