“Diner-worthy.” She glanced down at her shirt. It was plastered to her breasts, giving him a view much like hers. She immediately pulled the material away from her body and crossed her arms over her chest.
He glanced away. “Burger Barn?”
“Maybe. Although the drive-through takes forever, especially on Sunday.”
“Okay. Then how about…um—”
“I have plenty of food at my place.” Why the hell had she said that? Was she nuts? The pheromones flying between them must be impairing her judgment if she’d just invited him to her apartment.
“You’re sure?” He studied her, clearly trying to figure this out.
She wished him luck with that. She didn’t know why she’d made the offer either. But what was done was done. She’d calm the heck down after they got out of this charged situation. “Why not? It’s convenient and I have food.”
“Okay. The truck’s unlocked, so we can just make a run for it. Ready?”
“Let’s go.”
He raced for the driver’s side and she handled getting into the passenger seat. On the way back to town, he had to crack the windows and turn on the defroster when the windshield fogged up from the added moisture.
She didn’t comment on it. She didn’t want to call attention to their translucent clothing or the fact that they both seemed to be breathing a little funny. Everything would be fine once they reached their respective apartments and dried off.
The windshield wipers maintained a rhythmic beat in the otherwise silent cab. What to say, what to say? Food. She could talk about that. “I—”
“What—” His voice stumbled over hers. “Sorry. Go ahead.”
“I was going to tell you what I was planning to fix.”
“And I was going to ask.”
“Veggie omelets, which will use up the last of the heirloom tomatoes. Did you eat yours, yet?”
“They’re both still sitting there.”
“Getting riper by the minute.”
“Yes, ma’am.” A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Sure are.”
Either he was ramped up like she was or trying not to laugh. Could be either. “You might as well bring them after you get out of your wet clothes.”
“I’ll bring ‘em.” His voice sounded strange.
She peeked over at him. That slight dent in his cheek told her he was ready to bust out laughing. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing.”
“No, really.”
He took a quick breath. “Just getting past the image of striding buck naked down the hall, a ripe tomato in each hand.”
She choked on a burst of startled laughter and spent the next minute trying to catch her breath. She didn’t have any trouble generating that visual after the towel incident.
“Sorry. I guess you weren’t picturing that.”
“No.” She dragged in a breath. “But I am, now, thank you very much.”
“I can tell. Your face is about as red as a tomato.”
“How attractive.” She pressed her hands to her hot cheeks.
“It is, actually. Makes your eyes look really blue.”
“Um, thanks.” Butterflies danced in her stomach.
“Alrighty, then, veggie omelets. Sounds great.”
“Good.” She took another deep breath. “Do you like herbed potatoes?”
“I like potatoes any way I can get ‘em.”
“Then I’ll fix those, too.” His enthusiasm for food did nothing to lower the temperature in the truck.
“How can I help?”
“Help?”
“Absolutely. I’m not going to lounge on your sofa while you fix us lunch.”
“Oh.” That could complicate matters. If he stationed himself in her kitchen, the stove wouldn’t be the only thing generating heat. “My kitchen’s kind of small.”
“Same size as mine, right?”
“Yes.“
“Roxanne and I managed fine when I visited her in March.”
“But she’s your sister.”
The corner of his mouth lifted. “Meaning what?”
Meaning I can’t be that close to you without risking spontaneous combustion. “You’ve probably cooked together before.” There. That sounded reasonable.
He glanced at her. “I’m sure we’ll manage.”
Good Lord, what had she gotten herself into? Sharing a meal was known territory. They’d done that the night he’d brought dinner.
But cooking together in her tiny kitchen? Preparing food was a sensual experience—the scents, the textures, the colors and the sounds. She resonated to the sizzle of onions in butter and the crunch of a red pepper under the blade of her knife. She couldn’t imagine adding Wes to the mix without triggering an explosion.
“Rain’s let up.” He parked in front of the bakery and turned off the motor. “We won’t have to make a dash for the door.”
“That’s good.” But she didn’t move.
He turned to face her. “Ingrid?”
“What?”
His voice gentled. “Do you not want me in your kitchen?”
Oh, she wanted him in her kitchen all right. In her kitchen, in her living room, in her bedroom…
Stop it! She had to get a grip before she spun out of control. Friends. They were supposed to be just friends, dammit! “It’s fine.”
“Because we can forget about having lunch together. I can eat one of those tomatoes—”
She gathered her courage. “I don’t want to forget about it. Come down after you change clothes and we’ll fix the omelets together.”
“Should I bring my tomatoes?” Amusement danced in his dark eyes.
“Yes.” God, he was tempting. And she was one small step away from raising the white flag. “One in each hand.”
Chapter Twelve
Out of necessity, Wes had perfected the art of a fast turnaround. A dry pair of jeans, a navy t-shirt left over from his college days, and he was ready to head down to Ingrid’s apartment.
That might not be a good idea. In his experience, ladies took longer to change clothes, especially after getting rained on. Their hair was one factor. Ingrid might want to jump in the shower and rinse hers out before getting dressed.
Showing up five minutes after they’d parted in the hallway wouldn’t be cool. He was desperately hungry, though, so he snacked on some mixed nuts to take the edge off.
Then he checked in with the clinic in Three Forks just in case. They had nothing to report. He considered calling the folks with the foal to make sure everything was fine, but that could backfire. Sure as the world, they’d ask him to come out the minute he was free. He didn’t want to start something he wasn’t prepared to finish.
Ten minutes later he headed out, holding a very ripe tomato in each hand. He cradled them as loosely as possible, although dropping them would be worse than squeezing them too tight. He should have eaten them before they turned into juice-filled grenades ready to spew everywhere.
That imagery conjured the buck-naked scenario he’d described earlier. He got distracted and tightened his grip on one of the tomatoes. His middle finger punctured the skin. It started leaking.
“Ingrid!” He stopped and did his best to lick the juice oozing between his fingers before it dripped on the floor. “I need a little help out here! Bring a bowl or something!”
A moment later she appeared in jeans and a t-shirt, her feet bare and a mixing bowl in her hand. “What the—oh, my God.” She started laughing.
“Okay, okay.” He kept licking. “Come quick before juice gets everywhere.”
“Right.” Still chuckling, she hurried over. “Just drop them—no, wait, don’t drop…”
But he’d already let go and the tomatoes landed in the bowl with a splat. The bowl was deep enough to contain the juice, though. “Are they ruined?”
She glanced up at him. “Absolutely not. They can still go in the omelets. Or I can use them for tomato sauce, salsa, soup...lots of things.”
But
he wasn’t hearing her words. He’d been captured by the effect of her golden lashes framing her incredible blue eyes as she gazed at him. He sighed. “You’re amazing.”
Her eyes widened. She swallowed. “Um, thank you.” Her voice wasn’t quite steady. And her cheeks were a little pink. “Lets…um…get these in the kitchen.”
Unless he was imagining things, he was affecting her. That was good news. Because she was seriously affecting him. “I’m following you.”
Carrying the bowl, she turned and started back toward her apartment. “I was grinding beans for coffee when you called for help.”
He fell into step beside her. “Coffee would be great.”
“I also forgot that I brought some cinnamon rolls upstairs yesterday. I thought we could have them with coffee while we’re cooking, but you’re welcome to have one with your omelet, too, if you want.”
“I’d like that. Can’t ever have too many.” He followed her through the open door and into her kitchen. “I need to get the tomato juice off my hand. Then I’ll be ready to help with whatever.”
“Go for it.”
After rinsing off at the sink, he dried his hands on a towel that hung nearby. Then he turned and watched her start their brew in her fancy-looking coffee maker. “Does that thing make lattes and stuff?”
“It does.” She pushed a button and glanced up. “But you’re a regular coffee guy so that’s what I’m making.”
“Must be kind of boring for you.”
She gazed at him for a moment before turning away. “I’m not the least bit bored.”
Whoa. The flash of fire in her eyes sent a message straight to his groin. “Good.” The word came out a little raspy.
She opened the refrigerator. “I’ll warm up the cinnamon rolls.”
She’d warmed him up, that was for sure. And the tight quarters of her kitchen would accelerate the process. “What can I do?”
“Want to chop up some potatoes?”
No, I want to kiss your full pink mouth until neither of us can see straight. “Sure. Hand ‘em over.”
When she gave him the string bag of small, multi-colored potatoes, her fingers brushed his. Heat shot up his arm and his chest tightened like he’d touched a livewire. He hadn’t anticipated making a move during this meal, but with all the electricity arcing between them, holding back might be a lot tougher than he’d expected.
She set him up next to the sink with a knife and a cutting board so he could rinse the potatoes as he worked. Normally he had a very steady hand, but it wasn’t all that steady now.
The sweet, yeasty scent of warm cinnamon rolls filled the kitchen, along with the aroma of melted butter and whatever else she was sautéing in the frying pan where the potatoes were destined to go. His stomach growled but an even greater hunger was developing below his belt.
The woman who could satisfy both his desires was within reach, busily whisking eggs in a bowl. Was it possible to be in heaven and hell at the same time?
She set the bowl aside. “I’ll get our coffee and cinnamon rolls.”
“Excellent, thanks.”
Moments later she put a full mug of coffee and a cinnamon roll on a plate next to him on the counter. “You must really like potatoes.”
He evaluated the sizable mound on the cutting board and put down the knife before turning to her. “Or else I forgot what I was doing because I was distracted by you.”
Surprise flickered in her eyes. “You were?”
“Yes, ma’am, but that’s nothing new. I’ve been thinking about kissing you ever since that night in the hall. I’ve just been afraid to tell you.”
“I see.” A pulse beat in her throat as her attention drifted downward and lingered on his mouth.
That was a good beginning. “I think you’ve been thinking about it, too.”
Her gaze lifted to his. The heat in her eyes confirmed it. “A kiss is…a big step.”
“I know. That’s probably why it’s best if you’re the one who takes it.” He stood very still but his heart was going a mile-a-minute.
After an electric moment that seemed to last forever, she broke eye contact and drew in a shaky breath. “I need to start those potatoes.” Picking up the cutting board, she turned toward the stove.
As the potatoes sizzled in the fragrant butter, Wes closed his eyes and willed his body to settle down. He wasn’t wrong. She wanted him as much as he wanted her. But she didn’t trust it. Patience.
A warm cinnamon roll with melted frosting was a poor substitute for kissing her, but eating it gave him something to do with his hands. And his mouth.
He turned around and leaned against the counter while he bit into it. “Thanks for the treat.”
“You’re welcome.” She stood in front of the stove, her back to him as she tended the browning potatoes.
“Did you bake these?”
“I did, as a matter of fact.”
“I thought so.” Her royal blue t-shirt was the stretchy kind that hugged her curves. He was very aware of those curves. When she shifted her weight, the denim of her jeans tightened in response. So did his body.
She glanced over her shoulder. “There’s no way you could tell Abigail’s cinnamon rolls from mine. We work from the same recipe.”
“I disagree. There’s a slightly different shape. That goes for the bear claws, too.”
“Hmm.” She picked up her cinnamon roll and studied it. “Now I want to do a test and see if you really can tell.” She leaned over the plate when the frosting started to drip. “I left these in a little too long.”
“I like them this way. Gooey is good.” Especially if it became a two-person experience.
“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised you’d say that.” She lowered the flame under the potatoes and put the lid on the pan before turning to face him. “I’ve never known anyone who enjoys sweets as much as you do.”
“Neither have I, to be honest.”
“You’re a baker’s dream come true.”
“I only care about one particular baker.” He sipped his coffee as he gazed at her over the rim of his mug. “I’m hoping my love of sweets gives us something in common.”
She swallowed. “It does. But you can’t live on sweets alone.” She turned back to the stove. “I’m going to fix you the most delicious omelet you’ve ever tasted.”
“Can’t wait.” She clearly wasn’t ready to march over here and kiss him like there was no tomorrow, so he’d enjoy the heck out of her home-cooked meal. Considering the importance of food in her life, that was a significant gift.
And he’d be the most appreciative guest she’d ever welcomed to her table.
Chapter Thirteen
“Most delicious omelet ever.” Wes pushed aside his plate after finishing the omelet and the cinnamon roll he’d added as dessert. He rested his muscled forearms on the table.
“Glad you think so.” She’d barely tasted hers. She’d spent the entire meal in a heightened state of awareness of her dining companion. His encouragement to initiate a kiss lay like an invisible gauntlet on the table between them.
“Yes, ma’am.” He took a breath, stretching the soft cotton of his t-shirt. “I don’t say things I don’t mean.” His dark gaze held hers.
His words simmered in her brain. They were affecting the rest of her, too. “Good to know.”
Sharing her intimate kitchen space following his kissing comment had been a stimulating experience, to say the least. The enticing aromas wafting from the stove and the visual of his toned body in snug jeans and a t-shirt had created a powerful distraction.
By some miracle, she hadn’t set the kitchen on fire. She hadn’t been nearly as successful keeping her internal thermostat under control. Now that the meal was over and he was gazing into her eyes, she was pushing into the red zone.
He laid his silverware on his plate. “I’ll help you clean up.”
“Okay.”
But he didn’t push back his chair. Neither did she.
He
r heart beat so fast her ears started to ring. “Or…”
His eyes darkened. “Or?”
Was she really going to do this? Apparently she was. “Or…we could try that kiss.”
The sexiest smile she’d ever seen curved his lips. “Yes, we could.”
Drawn by the heat in his eyes and the promise in those lips, she rose from the table. He followed her up until they were standing a hair’s breadth apart. She laid her hands on his warm chest, her palms absorbing the wild thumping of his heart through the soft cotton.
His breath hitched, but he didn’t move a muscle. He’d told her this was her step to take. The look in his eyes made it clear he was giving her every chance to change her mind.
She wasn’t going to. She wanted…this. Clutching his shoulders and lifting onto her toes, she closed her eyes and lightly touched her mouth to his.
His lips were warm and supple. Pulse racing, she began exploring, tasting buttercream frosting, cinnamon and tightly leashed desire. Only a slight tremor when she shifted her angle betrayed the passion lurking beneath his outward calm. He kept his arms at his sides.
Clearly he was still waiting, allowing her to set the pace. His restraint excited and intrigued her. Edging closer, she leaned into him as she slid her hands up the strong column of his neck. When she ran her fingers through the silky hair at his nape, he shivered.
Gradually she deepened the kiss as pleasure fizzed in her veins. With a soft groan, he wrapped her in his arms. His grip tightened, coaxing her closer, ever closer to the flames.
And she ignited, the flash fire sweeping through her. When he cupped the back of her head and thrust his tongue into her mouth, she whimpered with longing and pressed against the hard planes of his aroused body.
She’d known it would be like this. One kiss and she was already coming apart.
Backing her up against the table, he lifted her onto it. Dishes rattled. She wrapped her legs around his hips and wiggled closer, wanting all he had to give. As he continued to ravish her mouth, he reached under her shirt and unfastened the back clasp of her bra.
Then he lifted his mouth a fraction from hers. He was breathing hard. “Wait. I need…we can’t—”
A Cowboy’s Challenge_The McGavin Brothers Page 8