Page 54 of In This Moment

Confused, she looked at the dog. “I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do now.”

A silly comment, but the truth. She was officially unpacked from her move home. The house had been revamped to suit her style. She’d secured a job at the Gazette and helped to get it in a better state to thrive. The library was on its way to begin renovations, so they could hopefully reopen in six to ten months from now. And she’d started a new yet promising relationship with Graham.

Could it be she was finally, blessedly getting her life on track? Heck, she hadn’t been in a place where she could admit such a thing since she’d left Vallantine for college. Ten years ago. A sad, pathetic realization.

Whatever. She wasn’t going to let the past dull her mood.

Rising, she went into the kitchen, where her legs about gave out on her.

Graham, his back to her, stood at the stove stirring something in a pot. Corded sinew in his arms. Wide shoulders. His hair was damp from his shower, the ends curling. He’d changed into a pair of dark gray sweats and a white tee. Bare feet. That alone could undo her. Lord, bare feet were sexy. Not accounting for an attractive man in her kitchen. Cooking. For her.

Be still her heart.

As if sensing her, he glanced over his shoulder. His grin was just a cheap shot. “Thought you were showering.”

She’d rather watch him. “Working up to it. What are you cooking?” It smelled amazing. She walked closer to peer over his shoulder.

She retracted her last thought. He smelled amazing.

“Gumbo. I had the base roux made already in my fridge. I’m just adding the rest to the pot.” Turning, he wrapped an arm around her waist and swiped a finger down her nose. “You’ve got paint all over you.”

“Eh, I tried to keep it on the walls.”

His low chuckle vibrated her ribs. “Adorable.” He smacked a quick kiss to her lips and returned to the pot. “This’ll be done soon. Go shower.”

Sigh. She’d rather watch him, but fine.

Making her way back down the hall, she went into her old room out of habit, then backtracked to her new one. It took her a few tries before she figured out where Dorothy had put her items in the dresser.

Shower complete, leaving her hair to air dry, she returned to the kitchen. He had bowls of gumbo on the table waiting, with cut French bread piled on a plate.

“I could get used to you cooking for me.”

He laughed, turning from the stove, and froze. Slowly, his gaze drifted down the length of her and up again. “Damn.”

“What?” She glanced down at herself. She’d put on a pair of hip-hugger pink boxers and a white tee with a cupcake on it. Unsure what he’d cursed for, she sent him a questioning glare.

“You look good enough to eat, that’s what.”

“Oh.” Well, geez. Blow her over with a feather. His low, coarse, guttural admission seemed too sincere to be a random comment.

Setting the oven mitts aside, he strode to her. Languidly. Seductively. Hunter seeking prey. Pausing in front of her, there wasn’t any oxygen between them as he looked down at her.

“Hi,” she lamely said, unclear what his intentions were, but very certain she’d do whatever he asked. Her heart thumped erratically behind her ribs.

“You are an incredibly attractive woman, Rebecca.”

Aw. “Thank you.” Her voice had come out closer to a choked whisper, but she put the blame on him.

“You’re welcome.” He bumped his chin toward the table. “We should eat before I get other ideas instead.”

Call it curiosity or a flat out rise in gumption, but she challenged his statement. “What kind of ideas?”

He inhaled. Hard. His eyes heated as they narrowed to slits. “Ideas not acceptable to mention in polite company.”

“I don’t see any company.” Lord, what had gotten into her? Before today, she couldn’t flirt if her life depended on the task for survival.

As if siding with him, Twain barked.

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