bad tempered when I’m in the middle of something,” he replied. “A clamp on the muffler came loose . . . oh, hell, Burgundy, I’m not used to women in broad daylight, much less women who can cook!”
That made her blush, and she stared at the door. “I’ve got another pie, if you’d like a slice.” There was a silence, and she looked up quickly, embarrassed. “I’m sorry, you’re in a hurry, I imagine, and I’ve got to go to the store!”
“Don’t panic,” he said quietly. “You’re not the kind of woman who throws herself at a man. I’ve learned that about you, if nothing else. I’m not in a hurry, and you don’t have to go to the store. I’d like that pie.”
“I . . . I . . . ” She took a deep breath and stood aside. “Won’t you come in?”
She motioned him to the table while she got down coffee mugs and another slice of pie. Meanwhile, Cabbage came in to see what the disturbance was all about and stood watching the newcomer with her crossed eyes intent and wary.
“Purebred?” he asked, leaning down to let the cat sniff at his hands before she began to purr and scrape her cheeks against it.
“Yes,” Madeline replied, setting a cup of coffee and a slice of pie in front of him at the table. “Her name’s really Sultana, but I call her Cabbage.”
He scratched the cat’s ears. “Do you show her?”
She shook her head. “Those lovely crossed eyes would disqualify her in any real competition, she’s little more than breeding stock. But I liked her because she wasn’t perfect.”
He took a bite of pie and nodded. “It tastes better than it felt,” he said with a glance in her direction.
She grinned self-consciously. “Sorry about that. If it’s any consolation, you didn’t do my ears much good.”
“I never pretended to be a saint.”
“God knows, you’d never be accused of it.”
He finished the pie and leaned back, satisfied, to sip his coffee, taking it black, as she had half expected. He set the mug on the table and pulled a cigarette from the package in his pocket. “Do you mind?” he asked formally.
She shook her head.
“Want one?”
“I don’t smoke.” She got up to get him an ashtray from the counter and set it in front of him.
“No lecture?” he asked with deliberate mockery.
“I live my life as I please,” she told him. “I think other people have the right to do the same.”
He lit the cigarette and threw his arm over the back of the chair, watching her through a cloud of smoke. He seemed to fill the room, not only with his size, but with the raw force of his personality. His dark, masculine vitality clung like the cologne he wore.
“I think it’s time you and I did some straight talking,” he said finally. His eyes narrowed, glittering across at her. “How would you feel about having an affair with me?”
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