Housebound by Anne Stuart Page B

you like carbonnades à la Flammande? ”
    â€œWhat kind of beer do you have to go with it?”
    â€œGerman and Dutch. I wanted to find some Flemish beer but I couldn’t think of any.”
    â€œI can’t either.” There was still a note of strain in his voice, and he whirled on her suddenly, his lean, strong body taut. “Do you know what the definition of blemish is?”
    He looked so very serious, the smile wiped from his dark face, and all sorts of things ran through her mind. The scarring of a bad marriage, the wounds left by petty jealousy? “No, what?” she questioned, her voice as tense as his.
    â€œThe language they speak in Felgium.”
    â€œDamn you!” She collapsed against the sink, weak with laughter.
    â€œI thought you’d like that,” he said with a smirk. “Do you know how they torture seasoned criminals?”
    â€œThey make them listen to your jokes?”
    â€œNo, Annie love. They torture seasoned criminals on a spice rack.”
    â€œOh, no,” she moaned. “Go away. I’d rather do the salad myself.”
    â€œSorry, but I haven’t found a willing victim for a long time. I was almost kicked out of law school for that last one.”
    â€œI’m not surprised. You should be ashamed of yourself, Mr. Grant.”
    â€œI can’t help myself, Ms. Kirkland. It comes over me sometimes, this dreadful compulsion to tell bad jokes. I need help.”
    â€œYou do indeed. I think you should corner Holly and tell her. Then she’d leave you alone for certain.”
    â€œAnd then I could spend the rest of the weekend backing you into dark corners.” There was a dangerous gleam in his eyes. “That sounds like an excellent idea.”
    â€œOn second thought, maybe you’d better spare Holly the disillusionment. She told me you were the sexiest man alive—I’d hate to see her illusions shattered so completely.”
    â€œYou think telling bad jokes diminishes my sexuality?”
    She paused midway through her third onion. “It quite effectively unmans you,” she said, gesturing with her knife for emphasis.
    â€œIf you didn’t have that knife around I could very easily prove you wrong,” he murmured, the gleam in his eyes more pronounced. “That’s not a challenge I can let pass by.”
    â€œToo bad. I’ll defend my virtue at all costs.”
    â€œThen I’ll have to wait until I can catch you without a knife,” he replied, undaunted.
    â€œAnd when Wilson and Holly are out of the picture, and when I’m as addled as I was last night and this morning,” she added sternly. “That’s a tall order, and one I don’t think fate is likely to fill.”
    â€œAddled, were you?” he queried, much interested. “I wonder why?”
    â€œHow could I help it with the sexiest man in the world bent on adding me to his list of conquests?” Anne replied, her voice wry.
    He started to say something, then changed his mind. “I don’t have a list of conquests,” he said quietly.
    â€œThat’s not what Holly said.” She was concentrating very hard on the onions, but she could feel those mesmerizing blue eyes watching her, feel the heat from him as he moved closer to her slender body by the sink.
    â€œI’m not a monk,” he said finally. “I have normal, healthy urges that I try to fill in normal, healthy ways. And having to bed every woman in sight isn’t a healthy, normal way as faras I’m concerned.” Abruptly he changed the subject. “Why don’t you have a food processor? Any cook as good as you deserves one.” Reaching deftly around her knife, he took half-a-dozen onions with him to aid in her slicing.
    â€œDon’t I know it.” She sighed covetously. “At this point we can’t afford it. Every penny goes into this old house.” She looked around her with mingled