one. He opened a cabinet beneath a wide counter and began rummaging through the cookware.
“There’s one.” Miranda pointed to the rack above the butcher-block cutting table. “It’s the perfect size, but I can’t reach it.”
Lucas, who was eight inches taller than she, reached up and easily unhooked the small pot. His movement hiked up his sweater, giving Miranda a glimpse of his taut lower abdomen and defined obliques. Miranda’s hormones roared into overdrive. Nothing appealed to her more than nicely sculpted obliques, the muscles that created that delectable ridge of flesh right above a man’s hips and anchored a tight and toned torso. “Do you have buns?” she asked.
Lucas, his eyes sparkling, handed her the saucepan. “Of course.”
“I meant…” She waved a hand, floundering for words and hoping to fan the sudden heat rising in her face. “You know what I meant.” She took the pot and the franks to the stove.
“You’re very pretty when you blush.”
Miranda felt a whoosh of heat, and it took her a beat to realize that it was coming from the stove. Lucas was standing beside her, and had turned on the burner. “How did you know that I liked hotdogs?”
“Your friend Bernard told us.” He watched Miranda use a paring knife to split the wrapper on the franks. She pulled each one from the package and dropped it into the pot, and then filled the pot with water at the sink. “He was quite helpful. In fact, he provided more information about you than we actually needed.”
Miranda set the pot over the gas flame. “Such as?”
“You were born on a Monday at Mercy Hospital in Silver Spring, Maryland.”
“Anything else?” She faced him and set a hand on her hip. Her sweater slipped.
Lucas clutched at the insides of his pockets to stop himself from reaching for the inviting peek of skin. “He told us that you have a sister, Calista, who’s marrying a baseball player in June.”
“Who’s this ‘us’ you keep referring to?”
“Me and my publicist, actually. He acquires things for me. What I want, it’s his job to get.”
Miranda turned away from him and stared at the simmering franks. “So am I just another acquisition?”
He stepped behind her and gently settled his hands on her shoulders. When he spoke, his words warmed her right ear. “Yes, in that you are something that I absolutely had to have. No, in that I’m not looking for a casual encounter.”
She raised her head. Lucas didn’t move. He spent a moment breathing her scent, infusing himself with the jasmine sweetness of her hair and skin.
Miranda closed her eyes and enjoyed his proximity. But for the movement of her chest and shoulders as she breathed, she kept perfectly still. She would practically be in his arms with the tiniest movement, and that was the last place she wanted to be. Lucas might belong only to her for this moment, here in his old kitchen, but he wasn’t really hers, and never could be.
Lucas pulled away from her before he reached the point where he would never be able to do so. “I’ll get those buns.”
By the time he retrieved hotdog rolls and plates, Miranda had collected the condiments. The boiled franks steamed on a plate while Miranda and Lucas pulled stools up to the butcher-block table. Miranda was horrified when Lucas set his hotdog in a bun and then attempted to eat it with a knife and fork.
“That’s got to be the strangest thing I’ve ever seen,” she remarked. “It’s a hotdog, not filet mignon. Get your hands dirty.” She picked up her well-dressed frank and took a hearty bite.
“You’ve got mustard on the corner of your mouth,” Lucas told her.
She used the heel of her hand to wipe away the mustard then licked her hand clean. She couldn’t have charmed Lucas more if she had deliberately tried. He followed her example and chomped his frank in half in one bite.
“My God,” he exclaimed. “This is the best hotdog I’ve ever had.”
“Really?” Miranda was
“There’s one.” Miranda pointed to the rack above the butcher-block cutting table. “It’s the perfect size, but I can’t reach it.”
Lucas, who was eight inches taller than she, reached up and easily unhooked the small pot. His movement hiked up his sweater, giving Miranda a glimpse of his taut lower abdomen and defined obliques. Miranda’s hormones roared into overdrive. Nothing appealed to her more than nicely sculpted obliques, the muscles that created that delectable ridge of flesh right above a man’s hips and anchored a tight and toned torso. “Do you have buns?” she asked.
Lucas, his eyes sparkling, handed her the saucepan. “Of course.”
“I meant…” She waved a hand, floundering for words and hoping to fan the sudden heat rising in her face. “You know what I meant.” She took the pot and the franks to the stove.
“You’re very pretty when you blush.”
Miranda felt a whoosh of heat, and it took her a beat to realize that it was coming from the stove. Lucas was standing beside her, and had turned on the burner. “How did you know that I liked hotdogs?”
“Your friend Bernard told us.” He watched Miranda use a paring knife to split the wrapper on the franks. She pulled each one from the package and dropped it into the pot, and then filled the pot with water at the sink. “He was quite helpful. In fact, he provided more information about you than we actually needed.”
Miranda set the pot over the gas flame. “Such as?”
“You were born on a Monday at Mercy Hospital in Silver Spring, Maryland.”
“Anything else?” She faced him and set a hand on her hip. Her sweater slipped.
Lucas clutched at the insides of his pockets to stop himself from reaching for the inviting peek of skin. “He told us that you have a sister, Calista, who’s marrying a baseball player in June.”
“Who’s this ‘us’ you keep referring to?”
“Me and my publicist, actually. He acquires things for me. What I want, it’s his job to get.”
Miranda turned away from him and stared at the simmering franks. “So am I just another acquisition?”
He stepped behind her and gently settled his hands on her shoulders. When he spoke, his words warmed her right ear. “Yes, in that you are something that I absolutely had to have. No, in that I’m not looking for a casual encounter.”
She raised her head. Lucas didn’t move. He spent a moment breathing her scent, infusing himself with the jasmine sweetness of her hair and skin.
Miranda closed her eyes and enjoyed his proximity. But for the movement of her chest and shoulders as she breathed, she kept perfectly still. She would practically be in his arms with the tiniest movement, and that was the last place she wanted to be. Lucas might belong only to her for this moment, here in his old kitchen, but he wasn’t really hers, and never could be.
Lucas pulled away from her before he reached the point where he would never be able to do so. “I’ll get those buns.”
By the time he retrieved hotdog rolls and plates, Miranda had collected the condiments. The boiled franks steamed on a plate while Miranda and Lucas pulled stools up to the butcher-block table. Miranda was horrified when Lucas set his hotdog in a bun and then attempted to eat it with a knife and fork.
“That’s got to be the strangest thing I’ve ever seen,” she remarked. “It’s a hotdog, not filet mignon. Get your hands dirty.” She picked up her well-dressed frank and took a hearty bite.
“You’ve got mustard on the corner of your mouth,” Lucas told her.
She used the heel of her hand to wipe away the mustard then licked her hand clean. She couldn’t have charmed Lucas more if she had deliberately tried. He followed her example and chomped his frank in half in one bite.
“My God,” he exclaimed. “This is the best hotdog I’ve ever had.”
“Really?” Miranda was
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