with it, you’ll miss out on my ziti with tomato and basil.”
“Ziti?” After running her tongue around her teeth, she set the skillet on a burner. “I’ll wait until after I eat.” She got out a second pot for the pasta and handed it to him.
Once he’d added water and set it to boil, she watched him wash greens for a salad.
“Where’d you learn to cook?”
“We all cook. Chef’s knife? My mother didn’t believe there was women’s work and men’s work. Thanks,” he added and began chopping with a quick, negligent flair that had Regan lifting her brows. “There was just work,” he continued.
“Ziti doesn’t sound like farm food.”
“She had an Italian grandmother. Can you stand a little closer?”
“Hmm?”
“You smell good. I like to smell you.”
Ignoring that, and the little twist in her stomach, she picked up the wine he’d brought along. “Why don’t I open this?”
“Why don’t you?”
After she’d set it on the counter to breathe, she scooted behind him to reach the cupboard to get a salad bowl. When he asked for music, she slipped back into the living room and put Count Basie on low. Why, she wondered, did a man look so sexy with his sleeves rolled up, grating carrots into a salad?
“Don’t open that olive oil,” she told him. “I have some.”
“Extra virgin?”
“Of course.” She tapped a long-spouted copper pitcher on the counter.
“Count Basie, your own olive oil.” His eyes met hers, laughed. “Want to get married?”
“Sure. I’ve got time on Saturday.” Amused that he didn’t have such a quick comeback for that, she reached overhead for wineglasses.
“I was planning on working Saturday.” Watching her, he set the salad aside.
“That’s what they all say.”
Lord, she was one terrific piece of work. He moved closer as she poured the wine. “Tell me you like watching baseball on TV on hot summer nights, and we’ve got a deal.”
“Sorry. I hate sports.”
He moved closer still, and with a wineglass in either hand, she moved back. “It’s a good thing I found this flaw now, before we had five or six kids and a dog.”
“You’re a lucky guy.” Heart jittering, she backed up again.
“I like this,” he murmured, and traced a finger over the little mole beside her mouth. Inching closer, he ran his finger down to flip open the buttons of her blazer.
“Why are you always doing that?”
“Doing what?”
“Fooling with my buttons.”
“Just practicing.” The grin was quick as lightning, and just as bold. “Besides, you always look so tidy, I can’t resist loosening you up.”
Her retreat ended with her back between the side of the refrigerator and the wall.
“Looks like you’ve backed yourself into a corner, darling.”
He moved in slowly, slipping his hands around her waist, fitting his mouth to hers. He took his time sampling, his fingers spread over her rib cage, stopping just short of the curve of her breasts.
She couldn’t stop her breath from quickening or her lips from responding. His tongue flicked over them, between them, met hers. His taste was dark, and rabidly male, and streaked straight to her center like an arrow on target.
The small part of her mind that could still function warned her that he knew exactly how he affected women. All women. Any woman. But her body didn’t seem to give a damn.
Her blood began to pound, her skin to vibrate, from the shock of dozens of tiny explosions. She was certain she could feel her own bones melt.
She was exciting to watch. His eyes were open as he changed the angle of the kiss, deepened it, degree by painfully slow degree. He found the flutter of her lashes arousing, the faint flush desire brought to her cheeks seductive. And that helpless hitch of breath, that quick shiver when his fingers skimmed lightly over the tips of her breasts, utterly thrilling.
With an effort, he stopped himself from taking more. “God. It gets better every time.” Gently he nuzzled his way to her ear. “Let’s try it again.”
“No.” It surprised her that what she said and what she wanted were entirely different. In defense, she pressed a wineglass against his chest.
He glanced down at the glass, then back at her face. His eyes weren’t smiling now, weren’t gently amused. There was an edge in them now, dark and potentially deadly. Despite all common sense, she found herself drawn to this man who would take, and damn all consequences.
“Your hand’s shaking, Regan.”
“I’m aware of that.”
She spoke carefully, knowing that the wrong word, the wrong move, and what was in his eyes would leap out and devour her. And she would let it. She would love it.
That was something she definitely had to think over.
“Take the wine, Rafe. It’s red. It’ll leave a nasty stain on that shirt.”
For one humming moment, he said nothing. A need he hadn’t understood or counted on had him by the throat with rusty little claws. She was afraid of him, he noted, deciding she was smart to be afraid. A woman like her didn’t have a clue what a man like him was really capable of.
Taking the glass, he tapped it against hers, making the crystal ring, then turned back to the stove.
She felt as though she’d barely avoided a tumble from a cliff. And realized she already regretted not taking the plunge. “I think I should say something. I, um…” She took a deep breath, then an even deeper gulp of wine. “I’m not going to pretend I’m not attracted to you, or that I didn’t enjoy that, when obviously I am, and I did.”
Trying to relax, he leaned back against the counter, studied her over the rim of his glass. “And?”
“And.” She scooped back her hair. “And I think complications are…complicated,” she said lamely. “I don’t want—that is, I don’t think…” She shut her eyes and drank again. “I’m stuttering.”
“I noticed. It’s a nice boost to the ego.”
“Your ego doesn’t need any boosting.” She blew out a breath, cleared her throat. “You’re very potent. I have no doubt sex would be memorable— Don’t smile at me that way.”
“Sorry.” But the smile didn’t dim. “It must have been your choice
