style="font-size:15px;"> “I usually just order in.”
Grace waved that idea away, inching past him. He smelled like sweat and Irish Spring. Oh, crap. “I’ll make enough for two. Feel free to help yourself.” Why was her voice so weird and squeaky? And why the hell was she inviting him to spend more time in her presence?
“Sure. I, um, have to run through the shower first.”
Well, now that she screwed herself out of retreating to her room to determine what the hell had short-circuited in her brain to find Mr. Stuffed Shirt attractive, she had to go make herself, and him, some dinner.
Forcing one leg to follow the other, Grace took the first stair. She made the mistake of looking over her shoulder, accidentally making eye contact with Kyle, who was staring after her. She’d never noticed what a deep, pure blue his eyes were, and what the hell was wrong with her?
Grace whipped her head forward and took the stairs as quickly as possible. Distance seemed to be the best method to nip this crazy in the bud.
In the kitchen, Grace took a moment to lean against the wall and take a deep breath. This was weird, definitely, but not fatal by any means. So Kyle turned out to be more than just kind of cute. What did that matter? His personality hadn’t changed.
Bolstered, Grace poked around in the fridge. Not much to work with despite the state-of-the-art appliances and an overall gorgeous interior. Aside from the stainless-steel fridge and stove, the room looked like it came right out of the 1900s. Dishwasher and microwave were hidden inside gleaming white cabinets with distressed brassy handles. Decorative copper pans hung from a pot rack above the oven, and the walls were decorated with antique prints of food. A display cabinet stood along one wall with a handful of old kitchen gadgets and green bottles.
There was a small restored table in the circular end of the kitchen, surrounded on three sides by windows overlooking the side yard and the bluff below.
Grace pulled out eggs and cheese and a green pepper for an omelet. It would be another great place to paint with the almost surrounding windows. She wondered if Mr. High and Mighty would deign to allow her to paint in this room, or would that ruin his precious image, too?
Grace smiled as she mentally patted herself on the back. She was back to thinking about Kyle in the normal way, not the “hey, my brother’s stuffy best friend is surprisingly hot” way.
“I’m sorry we don’t have much in the way of food.”
Grace was startled, but hid it by pulling open a drawer blindly. She’d been in this kitchen quite a few times, but had never cooked in it. The pans had been easy enough to find, but she had yet to discover a spatula.
“I don’t like to cook for one, and Candy’s been keeping your brother busy the past few weeks.”
“I’m surprised you cook at all.” Was that mean? Was she being snippy? Suddenly she couldn’t tell if she was engaging in banter or bitchiness. Not good.
But she was off-kilter. Not only had she never seen him in shorts and a T-shirt during a run, but now he stood in front of her, hair wet from the shower, the smell of shampoo infiltrating her nose, and he was in track pants and a loose long-sleeved T-shirt. He wasn’t even wearing shoes, just perfectly white socks.
It was downright...normal.
Grace opened another drawer at random, focusing on the task at hand. In other words, not think about Kyle as anything more than her brother’s annoying roommate/business partner.
There were pretty little tea towels in this drawer. For a bachelor pad, it was quite the place. Of course, it wasn’t a bachelor pad. It was their business, and no doubt their interior decorator had picked out the dainty towels.
“The drawer right next to the oven.”
Grace looked up to find Kyle practically standing right next to her and only at the last second did she manage to keep herself from jumping away. “Huh?”
He opened the aforementioned drawer and pulled out a spatula. “Isn’t this what you’re looking for?”
“Oh. Right.” She took it from his outstretched hand, being very careful not to accidentally make physical contact. That would just be weird. “Thanks.” Grace avoided eye contact, instead focused on cracking eggs into a bowl.
“We keep a pad of paper in the cabinet over here for a grocery list.”
Forced to look now, Grace turned her head and watched as he opened the cabinet and pointed to the pad of paper hanging on a hook inside of it. “Feel free to add to it.”
“Sure. Thanks.”
“I go Sunday mornings, so if there’s anything you want for this week, you might want to get it down tonight.”
Grace smiled a little at that. Of course he had a set grocery day. The guy was about as anal as they came. But he looked good in the casual outfit, though he didn’t seem any more relaxed than usual.
He looked down at himself. “What?”
Heat stole up her neck so she quickly turned back to her omelet preparation. “What?”
“You’re staring at me.”
“Am not,” she muttered before realizing she sounded like a whiny kid.
“I don’t wear a suit to bed, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
She snickered because he’d actually made a joke at his own expense, but it didn’t last long because thinking about Hot Kyle plus what he wore to bed was bad news.
“Is that on your schedule, too? ‘Wear normal clothes Saturday evening.’” She wouldn’t be surprised. He probably even had a certain day of the week for sex. Oh, crap. Danger! Danger! Do not think about Kyle and sex in the same sentence.
She focused on the knife in her hand and the green pepper that needed slicing and willed every synapse of her brain away from images of Kyle’s powerful legs; flat, lean stomach; serious blue eyes.
She almost squeaked when Kyle stepped behind her. She could hear him breathing as he watched her slice the green pepper. She felt as if she was in a cooking class and he was the teacher analyzing her technique. Which was good. When he was being all judgmental, she had no desire to picture him naked.
Oh, crap.
* * *
KYLE WATCHED AS Grace haphazardly cut up the green pepper. It took every ounce of control to keep from telling her she was doing it wrong, but knowing Grace she’d just do it even more haphazardly to annoy him if he pointed it out.
Since he’d already run five miles this evening because he couldn’t focus on work thanks to Grace and all her innate Grace-ness, he wasn’t about to let her get under his skin anymore.
She was just so unpredictable. And not the kind of unpredictable he could troubleshoot. He never knew when she was going to scowl at him, poke fun at him or smile brightly at him in a way that made him uncomfortable. A discomfort he’d spent a lot of time ignoring the past few years.
Kyle pulled out a dish
