She slammed a lid on that thought, swung away and found herself confronted with the hard, lean lines of Kent’s back…and backside, as he reached into a cupboard above the sink for two mugs.
Oh, dear. She fanned her face and swung around another ninety degrees. She didn’t want to ogle his, uh, assets. In fact, it probably wasn’t a good idea to ogle any man’s assets until she’d sorted out what she was going to do with the rest of her life.
The rest of her life? What was she going to do with the next ten minutes?
Arghh. She scanned the room, searching for distraction. Her eyes landed on a chess set. A beautiful hand-carved chess set.
At her indrawn breath, audible in the silence of the room, Kent spun to face her. ‘What?’ He glanced around as if searching for a spider or lizard, some creepy-crawly that may have frightened her.
‘I…’ She pointed. ‘Did you make that?’
He grunted and shrugged.
‘It’s beautiful.’ She stared at him, trying to recognise the creator of the work of art in the hard stern man in front of her. ‘It’s one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.’
‘Then you need to get out more.’
She’d have laughed at his response if she hadn’t been so engrossed in admiring the individual chess pieces. Each one was intricately carved into the shape of a tree. The skill and workmanship that had gone into each piece took her breath away. The kings were mighty oaks, the queens graceful weeping willows and the bishops upright poplars. Talk about a craft project!
She held her breath and reached out to pick up a pawn—a miniature banksia—and marvelled at the detail. She could see each cylindrical flower on the delicate branches. How on earth had he managed that?
‘Do you play?’
She jumped, startled by his closeness. His breath disturbed the hair at her temple as he leant over to survey the piece she held. ‘I…’
He took a step back and she found she could breathe again.
‘Not really.’ She placed the pawn back on the board and sadness pierced her. She tried to smile. ‘My father was teaching me before he fell ill.’
The rest of Kent Black could look as hard as stone, but his eyes could soften from a winter gale to a spring breeze in the time it took to draw breath. Josie’s heart started to pound.
‘I’m sorry about your father, Josie.’
‘Thank you.’ He’d called her Josie.
‘I’m sorry he never had a chance to finish teaching you how to play.’
‘Me too.’ She couldn’t look away.
‘I’ll give you lessons if you like.’
She wondered if she looked as surprised by the offer as he did. She had no intention of letting him off the hook, though. ‘I’d like that very much.’
He grunted and took a step back. With one blink his eyes became as carved-from-rock hard as the rest of him.
‘When?’ she persisted. ‘Now?’
‘No.’ He strode back to the table. ‘Monday afternoons,’ he said after a pause. ‘At about this time.’
It was Tuesday now. Monday was six whole days away. He’d done that on purpose, she was sure of it. She’d missed out one lesson already if you counted yesterday.
She wanted to stamp a foot in frustration. The glint in his eye told her he knew it too. She forced her lips into a smile instead. ‘I’ll look forward to it.’ Beggars couldn’t be choosers, and she now only had six afternoons a week to fill. She didn’t want him retracting the offer.
She wondered if she could talk him into two afternoons a week? One look at his face told her to leave it for now.
‘Why don’t we have our tea outside?’ He lifted a tray holding their tea things and Josie had no choice but to follow him back out into the sunshine.
She cut large wedges of cake whilst he poured out mugs of tea. He made no attempt at conversation and, strangely, Josie didn’t mind. She watched him instead. He devoured his slice of chocolate cake with the kind of hunger that did strange things to her insides.
Warm, fuzzy things.
She had to glance away when he licked the frosting from his fingers. She cut him another slice then cleared her throat. ‘Did you grow up around here?’
‘No.’
He physically drew back in his seat, his face shuttered, and disappointment filtered through her. He didn’t want her prying into his background. Though at least she now knew his unique brand of strength wasn’t something born and bred into him because he’d grown up out here on Eagle Reach. There was hope for her yet.
He eyed her warily. She smiled back. ‘It’s only a packet mix.’ She motioned to the cake. ‘I make a much better one from scratch.’
‘It’s good.’
His manners were improving, but the wariness didn’t leave his eyes. It made her feel…wrong. She couldn’t remember making anyone feel wary before. She didn’t like the sensation. She searched for something deliberately inconsequential to say. She stared at the cake. Her lips twitched. ‘I was sorry I didn’t pack hundreds and thousands to sprinkle on top.’
Kent choked.
‘But then I figured you probably weren’t a hundreds and thousands kind of guy. A chocolate-sprinkle kind of guy maybe, but not hundreds and thousands.’
Kent stared at her. Then his wariness fled. He threw his head back and laughed. It changed him utterly, and it stole Josie’s breath.
One thing became brilliantly and dazzlingly clear. She could certainly imagine this incarnation of Kent kissing a woman. She saw it in bright Technicolor vividness.
Seeing it, though, didn’t mean she wanted it.
It didn’t.
Kent rolled his shoulders, stretching out the aches in his muscles. He’d spent most of the day fixing a broken fence and he was dying for his afternoon cup of tea.
And the rest of that chocolate cake Josie had baked yesterday. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten anything quite so satisfying. His stomach grumbled low and long. His mouth watered. He reached out to unlatch the back gate then froze.
‘Kent?’
Josie.
He peered over the palings and found her standing on the top step of his house, hand raised to knock on his back door. In her other hand she held a plate of what looked suspiciously like freshly baked biscuits.
His stomach growled again. His mouth watered some more. In the sunlight her hair glowed all the hues of a varnished piece of sandalwood
