Charmed By You ((Destiny Bay Romances-The Islanders 5)) by Helen Conrad

lamps gave off a soft muted light that washed the room in subtle shades. If Rembrandt had painted the cottage of a South Pacific planter, it might look something like this.
    Then Heather’s gaze fell on the wooden table set with plates and silverware for two people, candles lit and waiting. Three royal red hibiscus stuffed with clumsy elegance into a water glass formed the centerpiece.
    Her fingers laced together tightly as she turned to face Mitch. “Mele has dinner ready for me,” she began, but stopped when she saw him shaking his head.
    “She brought it over here earlier,” he told her smugly. “I talked her into helping me.”
    Heather felt an involuntary smile curl her lips. “Is this called baiting the trap?”
    He grinned. “The way to your heart always was through your stomach. Remember all those expensive dinners I had to buy before you would agree to marry me?”
    She nodded. “A full tummy does tend to blot out common sense,” she agreed. “Which is why I think I’ll pass on this meal.”
    “Oh, no you won’t.” He had been working behind a low counter, and now he emerged with a flourish, car rying a tray containing two crystal dishes which he passed under her nose.
    “Giant prawns in spicy lemon sauce,” he announced. “The Heather I know wouldn’t pass this up for its weight in gold.”
    She sighed, taking in the marvelous aroma and noting the firm pink flesh of the huge shrimps as they lay on a bed of tossed spinach leaves. Her stomach growled and she knew it would never forgive her if she denied it this feast. “Maybe just one bite,” she ventured, and he laughed low in his throat.
    “Sit down, Heather. Forget to hate me for just a little while.”
    She looked into his deep eyes, then quickly away. “Oh, what the heck,” she said weakly, despising her lack of resolve but knowing capitulation was inevitable. “I’m so awfully hungry.”
    The prawns tasted heavenly, but not any more so than the main course—marinated lamb shish kebabs, inter spersed with chunks of mushrooms, red onion, and pineapple, complemented by a generous serving of seasoned rice.
    “Mele’s a wonderful cook,” Heather declared, sipping the red wine in the faceted glass Mitch had poured for her. “All this almost makes me want to stay to sample more of her talents.”
    She regretted having phrased it just that way, but he let the reference to her departure pass without comment.
    “I deserve some of the credit,” he told her. “After all, keeping it warm just right has a lot to do with the final result. ”
    “Of course.” She returned his smile. “You always were terrific in the kitchen. Remember your omelets?”
    He nodded. “And don’t forget my hamburgers. Not many can achieve just the right combination of black outer crustand raw center that I managed.”
    Shelaughed, warmed by the wine and a flood of memories. “Then there was the time you tried to surprise me with flapjacks and we spent the rest of the day scrub bing down the ceiling. ”
    “Hey, listen, woman. Let’s not forget the time you decided to save all the chicken bones for soup and boiled them down until they formed burntsplinter stew.”
    She nodded, biting herlip. “I never did get the smell out of the kitchen curtains.” She cocked her head. “But that was in our first apartment. Didn’t we ever cook like that in the house?”
    “No.” His expression lost its animation. “Creativity is hard to come by in a kitchen that looks like an operating room.”
    Gleaming stainless steel and hard edges: She’d been so proud of that kitchen. She thought he would appreciate its sterile quality. Apparently not.
    She glanced at the kitchen he had now. “Are you creative here?” she asked softly, noting the old-fashioned gas stove and wooden cutting board.
    She met his gaze across the flickering candlelight. In the moment before he answered, she couldn’t look away.
    Only his dark eyes and the soft notes of the guitar filled the void