“I didn’t think you had it in you.”
She’d been acutely aware of his eyes at her back, and despite good intentions, her temper was rising. “Shows how much you know,” she snapped.
“Then you don’t have a cook back in wherever?”
“I don’t have a cook.”
“How about a husband?”
Without turning, she raised her left hand, fingers rigidly splayed and decidedly bare.
“The absence of a ring doesn’t mean anything. Militant feminists often—”
“I am not a militant feminist!” Gripping the handle of the frying pan, she forked the bacon onto its uncooked side. Slowly and silently she counted to ten. With measured movements, she reached for an egg.
It came down hard on the edge of the pan. The yoke broke. The white spilled over the rim.
Repairing the damage as best she could, she more carefully cracked the second egg, then stood, spatula in hand, waiting for both to cook.
“I thought you said you could crack an egg.”
She didn’t respond to the jibe.
“Got anything planned for an encore?”
She clamped her lips together.
“You could always flip an egg onto the floor.”
“Why don’t you shut up and eat?”
“I’m done.”
Eyes wide, she turned to see that his plate, piled high short moments before, was now empty. “You’re incredible.”
He grinned broadly. “I know.”
Her gaze climbed to his face, lured there by a strange force, one that refused to release her. Even after the slash of white teeth had disappeared, she stared, seeing a boyishness that was totally at odds with the man.
Unable to rationalize the discrepancy, she tore herself away and whirled back to the stove. The tiny whispers deep in her stomach could be put down to hunger, and the faint tremor in her hands as she transferred the eggs and bacon to a dish could be fatigue. But boyishness, in Noah?
A warning rang in her mind at the same moment she felt a pervasive warmth stretch from the crown of her head to her heels.
“Like I said,” Noah murmured in her ear, “I’ll need all my strength.”
One arm reached to her left and deposited his dish, utensils clattering, in the sink. The other reached to her right and shifted the frying pan to the cold burner. The overall effect was one of imprisonment.
“Do you mind?” she muttered as she held herself stiffly against the stove.
He didn’t move. Only his nose shifted, brushing the upper curve of her ear. “You smell good. Don’t you sweat like the rest of us?”
Shaye felt a paradoxical dampness in the palms of her hands, at the backs of her knees, in the gentle hollow between her breasts, and was infinitely grateful that he couldn’t possibly know. “Would you please move back?” she asked as evenly as she could.
“Have you ever been married?”
“I’d like to eat my eggs before they dry up.”
“Got a boyfriend?”
“If you’re looking for something to do, you could take a cup of coffee to your uncle.”
“You never get those sweet little urges the rest of us get?”
Swinging back her elbow, she made sharp contact with his ribs. In the next instant she was free.
“That was dirty,” he accused, rubbing the injured spot as she spun around.
“That was just for starters.” Her hands were balled at her sides, and she was shaking. “I don’t like to be crowded. Do you think you can get that simple fact through your skull, or is it too much to take in on a full stomach?”
Noah’s hand stilled against his lean middle, and he studied her for a long minute. “I think I make you nervous.”
“Angry. You make me angry.”
“And nervous.” He was back to taunting. “You’re flushed.”
“Anger.”
Silkily he lowered his eyes to her left breast. “That, too?”
She refused to believe that he could see the quick quiver of her heart, though she couldn’t deny the rapidity of her breathing. Even more adamantly she refused to believe that the tiny ripples of heat surging through her represented anything but fury. “That,
She’d been acutely aware of his eyes at her back, and despite good intentions, her temper was rising. “Shows how much you know,” she snapped.
“Then you don’t have a cook back in wherever?”
“I don’t have a cook.”
“How about a husband?”
Without turning, she raised her left hand, fingers rigidly splayed and decidedly bare.
“The absence of a ring doesn’t mean anything. Militant feminists often—”
“I am not a militant feminist!” Gripping the handle of the frying pan, she forked the bacon onto its uncooked side. Slowly and silently she counted to ten. With measured movements, she reached for an egg.
It came down hard on the edge of the pan. The yoke broke. The white spilled over the rim.
Repairing the damage as best she could, she more carefully cracked the second egg, then stood, spatula in hand, waiting for both to cook.
“I thought you said you could crack an egg.”
She didn’t respond to the jibe.
“Got anything planned for an encore?”
She clamped her lips together.
“You could always flip an egg onto the floor.”
“Why don’t you shut up and eat?”
“I’m done.”
Eyes wide, she turned to see that his plate, piled high short moments before, was now empty. “You’re incredible.”
He grinned broadly. “I know.”
Her gaze climbed to his face, lured there by a strange force, one that refused to release her. Even after the slash of white teeth had disappeared, she stared, seeing a boyishness that was totally at odds with the man.
Unable to rationalize the discrepancy, she tore herself away and whirled back to the stove. The tiny whispers deep in her stomach could be put down to hunger, and the faint tremor in her hands as she transferred the eggs and bacon to a dish could be fatigue. But boyishness, in Noah?
A warning rang in her mind at the same moment she felt a pervasive warmth stretch from the crown of her head to her heels.
“Like I said,” Noah murmured in her ear, “I’ll need all my strength.”
One arm reached to her left and deposited his dish, utensils clattering, in the sink. The other reached to her right and shifted the frying pan to the cold burner. The overall effect was one of imprisonment.
“Do you mind?” she muttered as she held herself stiffly against the stove.
He didn’t move. Only his nose shifted, brushing the upper curve of her ear. “You smell good. Don’t you sweat like the rest of us?”
Shaye felt a paradoxical dampness in the palms of her hands, at the backs of her knees, in the gentle hollow between her breasts, and was infinitely grateful that he couldn’t possibly know. “Would you please move back?” she asked as evenly as she could.
“Have you ever been married?”
“I’d like to eat my eggs before they dry up.”
“Got a boyfriend?”
“If you’re looking for something to do, you could take a cup of coffee to your uncle.”
“You never get those sweet little urges the rest of us get?”
Swinging back her elbow, she made sharp contact with his ribs. In the next instant she was free.
“That was dirty,” he accused, rubbing the injured spot as she spun around.
“That was just for starters.” Her hands were balled at her sides, and she was shaking. “I don’t like to be crowded. Do you think you can get that simple fact through your skull, or is it too much to take in on a full stomach?”
Noah’s hand stilled against his lean middle, and he studied her for a long minute. “I think I make you nervous.”
“Angry. You make me angry.”
“And nervous.” He was back to taunting. “You’re flushed.”
“Anger.”
Silkily he lowered his eyes to her left breast. “That, too?”
She refused to believe that he could see the quick quiver of her heart, though she couldn’t deny the rapidity of her breathing. Even more adamantly she refused to believe that the tiny ripples of heat surging through her represented anything but fury. “That,
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