to doing, but did she want to offer lodging to a man she didn’t know? A man she shouldn’t find so darn attractive?
She wasn’t afraid of Nick Granger, although she wasn’t sure what made her think he was trustworthy. The fact that he was a cop? That part worked against him, although he probably didn’t know it. Still, she couldn’t very well send him out into a snowstorm with no place to go. “You can sleep on the sofa.”
“Thanks. I’ll get my bag out of the car.”
She looked at the worn leather jacket he wore. It wasn’t enough protection from the cold. “You get the roast out of the oven. I’ll get your bag.”
“You’re not going outside in the storm. It’s my stuff, I’ll get it.”
So his heroic side masked stupidity. She sighed heavily. “I’ve got a down-filled parka and boots. I doubt you’d make it back to the porch.”
“I’m tougher than you obviously think,” he said.
“And much bigger than me. I’d have a tough time dragging your dead weight back inside.”
He flashed her a bad-boy grin. “Then leave me on the porch.”
“Now that’s an appealing thought, but it would prey on my sense of decency to let a defenseless stranger from sunny California freeze to death.”
“That’s one way to be rid of me.”
She tossed him a naughty-girl smile, one she’d never perfected. “You’re right, but it would probably draw a few Minnesota detectives to my house, and I’m not too fond of police officers.”
Granger closed the distance between them and placed his hands on her shoulders. A sea-breezy scent, mingled with leather and musk, accosted her with his sexual presence. She found it tauntingly appealing yet unwelcome.
“You’re not going outside.” Those coffee-brown eyes settled on hers, stimulating her like an intravenous jolt of caffeine. His grip tightened—not in a threatening way but still rather convincingly. The detective was macho, it seemed. Too macho and bossy for her taste. Well, let him go outside and freeze his tush off.
In an effort to dismiss the arousing effect he had on her, she lifted her chin. “Have it your way. I’ll put dinner on the table, and if you survive the ice and snow, wash your hands.”
“I’ll be back.”
That’s what Hailey was afraid of. She stood her ground until the door closed behind him.
Nick made it to the car, but it was colder than he’d anticipated—monstrously cold. He tried to think about the balmy weather back in San Diego, but it didn’t help.
By the time he reached the porch, he was shivering so badly that he thought he’d never stop. When he opened the door and stepped inside the warmth of the small apartment-size house, he could see Hailey at work in the kitchen, and he expected her to say something to him.
Instead, she continued to wash tomatoes and leaves of romaine without looking up. She was a stubborn woman, so it seemed. The kind to serve a guy a good-size portion of hot tongue and cold shoulder when he didn’t let her have her way. He glanced at his snow-covered pants and shoes.
The powdery stuff fell to the floor, and he realized a puddle of water would form on Hailey’s hardwood entry. No need to set off Martha Stewart before dinner.
“Where…can…I…f-f-f-ind…a…t-t-t-owel?” he asked between chattering teeth.
“Oh, you made it back alive.” She smiled sweetly, and her eyes glistened with feigned sincerity.
He didn’t wait for an answer to his question, just joined her in the kitchen and snatched one of two dish towels from the oven door handle. He carried it back to the living room. By the time he had the floor nearly dry, she yelled, “Hey,” jarring him from his task.
“What are you doing with my good towel?” she asked.
“Wiping the floor.”
“Those are dish towels and they’re only for looks. You’re not supposed to use them.”
“They were hanging in plain sight.”
“That’s a decorating touch. Like the curtains. I keep the regular towels in the righthand drawer.”
If Nick weren’t so hungry, he’d tell her what she could do with her towels. And since he needed to convince her to come to San Diego, he’d have to get on her good side. If she had one.
She opened the oven and stooped to pull out the roast. The backside of her was pretty nice.
Down, boy, he told himself. Wrong kind of woman. Totally wrong.
“It’s ready,” she said.
Nick noticed a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon on the countertop. “Should I pour the wine?”
She shot him one of those lips-parted, taken-aback glances, like he’d suggested using Steven’s toothbrush. Then her expression softened. “Sure. Go ahead.”
He supposed drinking wine by candlelight made her feel uneasy, as if Nick was putting the moves on her, threatening poor Steven’s position.
But that wasn’t his intent. It just seemed a waste to let the bottle stay corked and lying on the countertop.
Besides, he thought, a grin tugging at one side of his lips, if he plied her with a bit of vino, she just might open up and tell him what she had against Harry. And Nick just might convince her to pack an overnight bag and fly back to California for the weekend.
Wham, bam, thank you ma’am—only without the sex.
Hailey, he noticed, prepared each plate before setting it at the table, a formality Nick wasn’t used to. His idea of dinner was Chinese take-out or a couple of tacos.
Of course, there were those special meals at the Logans’ house, but Harry’s wife, Kay, always set the food out family-style, which seemed more like the way people should eat, if they were inclined to sit down with a napkin and silverware.
Nick had to admit the table Hailey had set looked inviting. He couldn’t help wondering how a guy would go about getting seconds. Ask for them, maybe?
He poured the wine, then took the seat Hailey indicated was his. This was one woman who needed to loosen up, and he wondered if a bottle of Cabernet would be enough. “Do you want me to light the candles?”
She shot him another one of those you’ve-got-to-be-kidding looks, but strode to the kitchen and returned with a book of matches. Olsen’s Bar and Grill, Mankato. Not that it mattered, but noticing details had become second nature to Nick.
He lit each wick, then watched the tiny flames reflect upon the crystal goblets, making them glisten with a romantic ambiance. He felt a bit guilty taking Steven’s place, but not overly so. The conversation he meant to have with Hailey was better kept private. And intimate.
When she sat and primly scooted her chair forward, he lifted his glass in a toast. “To
