It Had to Be You by Jill Shalvis Page A

scorched by heat just from looking at him. The man was drop-dead sexy, that was for sure.
    Equally for sure was relief that he hadn’t responded to her. It’d been a rhetorical question anyway, one uttered only because her brain had clicked off at the realization that he was half naked. But before she could reboot, he was back, wearing low-slung Levi’s, shrugging into a shirt that he didn’t bother to button. He had that whole dangerous, brooding air going on, spilling testosterone and bad boy vibes all over the place.
    It did something very unwelcome in the pit of her belly. And lower. She cleared her throat. “I found two possible rentals today.”
    He didn’t speak.
    Good to know where she stood. Probably he was so thrilled and overjoyed that he couldn’t speak.
    He went to the fridge.
    “One’s on the outer edge of the county,” she said. “In the Highlands. The other’s a room from the guy who owns the hardwood store. Anderson something.”
    “No,” he said.
    “No?”
    “The Highlands is a bad neighborhood. And you’re not renting a room from Anderson. Hell no.”
    She stared at him, but he was head first in the fridge. “You still hungry?” she asked. “I can make you something.” She moved over there just as he turned to her. She tried to nudge him out of her way, her palms settling on his chest, absorbing the heated, hard strength of him.
    He didn’t budge.
    She pushed a little harder and this time he stepped back. “Thanks for the omelet,” he said.
    “Want another?”
    “Sure.”
    She pulled out the eggs, cheese, broccoli, and a red pepper. Grabbing a pan, she turned on a burner. “Oh, I almost forgot. I have something for you.”
    His gaze went hooded, and she felt herself blush. She wasn’t sure what he thought she might be offering, but given what she’d said about the gun in his boxers, it was probably far more than she’d meant to offer.
    “There,” she said, gesturing with her chin to the envelope on the kitchen table. It was the cash equivalent of three nights’ worth of rent. Last night, tonight, and hopefully tomorrow night as well.
    Optimism. Guess her mom wasn’t the only Winters with that particular trait after all. The fact was that she’d hoped to get into a place tomorrow, but he’d just shut down her two current options.
    He didn’t make a move for the envelope, a fact Ali ignored as she began cutting up the pepper and grating cheese while he just stood there looking rumpled and sleepy and on edge. “Ironic, don’t you think?” she asked.
    “That you’re more at home in my kitchen than I am?”
    “The fact that we’re complete strangers, and yet we’ve already seen each other in our underwear.”
    “Yeah.” He stole a piece of cheese and popped it into his mouth. “I noticed that you didn’t hand me a sweater like I did for you.”
    She smiled. Her first of the day. Maybe of the week.
    He actually smiled back, which had to count for something, especially since he had a pretty great smile. She flipped the omelet and then a moment later transferred it to a plate, placing a few small broccoli spears on top before handing it to him.
    He stared down at the broccoli. “I don’t like broccoli.”
    “Why not?”
    “Because it’s green.”
    “When was the last time you tried it?” she asked.
    “I don’t like it,” he repeated, as if this answered her question.
    “Eat around it.”
    He stood there eyeing the offending vegetable like it was a bomb, and then his stomach grumbled loudly.
    “Eat.”
    Kicking out a chair, he sat. “Thanks,” he said around a mouthful. “I hate to cook.”
    She smiled. “My mom always said I should know how to feed a man. She says most women assume a guy’s most critical body part is considerably lower than his stomach, but they’re wrong. She says it’s a man’s stomach that does his thinking for him, not—” She broke off and felt herself flush. “Anyway, cooking is how she caught all her