Page 41 of A Little Harmless Pleasure

Anna:These people don’t bake like you. Also, I might have called you a traitor a few times last night when I was complaining to EF.

Cynthia rolled her eyes. Ex-fiancé or EF was Max’s nickname when they texted.

Cynthia:Be nice. It takes them awhile. Remember my first week? I burned myself several times a day.

“So, what are your plans?”

She looked over at him and smiled. Wearing a pair of khaki shorts and an unbuttoned red Hawaiian shirt, he was a sight to watch as he worked around his kitchen. Last night had been beyond anything she could have imagined. He hadn’t been satisfied with one bout, or two, she thought as she curled her toes against the cool tiled floor. Each time had been special. Sex with Chris was so different than what she’d experienced with her former lovers. She wasn’t exactly sure why. It just was. She’d never felt so…in tune with a man before. It was odd since she had known Max most of her life. Here was a man she’d only met weeks earlier, but she sensed she knew him better than any man she’d been with. She may not be able to tell someone his favorite color, but she felt an intimacy with Chris she’d never achieved with Max.

“Cynthia?”

She shook her head and moved her attention back to his face. His smile told her that he understood exactly what she had been thinking. And still, she couldn’t stop the blush that flushed her face.

“My plans? For today?”

He poured some batter on the griddle and nodded. “And beyond.”

“Today, I need to go to my grandmother’s house and start getting it in order. Then I thought I might just take a week or two and play tourist.”

“Then back to Georgia?”

She shrugged, still worried he would take her decision the wrong way.

“How much time did you take off from work?”

“I quit.”

He flipped one pancake over before doing the same with the second. “I thought you liked that job.”

“I did, but I needed time to think, to sort things out. A lot of things happened in the last few weeks. I couldn’t give Anna a definite date when I would be able to return.”

He plated the food and set it on the table.

She frowned at the stack of pancakes in front of her knowing there was no way she would ever finish them. Before she could say anything, Chris said, “I’m cooking and you’re my guest. Eat.”

Chris poured more batter then refilled his coffee cup. “What kind of things happened?”

Cynthia didn’t explain at first. It was more out of habit than anything else. So many years of not sharing family business was a hard trait to break. Chris glanced at her, a strange mixture of concern and hurt shading his expression. She didn’t want him to think she was holding back.

“Family things.” She picked up the syrup and poured a generous amount over her plate. Even with Max, she’d rarely discussed family matters. Odd, seeing as he probably knew more about her life than anyone else outside of the Myers’ household. It had been drilled into her from birth not to share secrets, tell of their problems.

After cutting off a portion of pancake, she shoved it in her mouth. As she chewed, she watched Chris work the other pancakes, filling a second plate for himself. Strong, capable, and unbelievably interested in her. Cynthia was sure those were the things that drew her to him, but there was more. Understanding, not pity, in his manner, in his expression made it easier to talk to him.

She cleaned off the remnants of the syrup from her mouth and drew in a cleansing breath. “There seemed to be a part of my grandmother’s will that my father neglected to tell me about.”

And so she told him. Over coffee and pancakes, the whole sordid story gushed out of her. From finding out about her father’s financial problems, to the news that he had planned on stealing from her to the final nasty confrontation with her mother the night before she drove to Atlanta. Instead of being disgusted with her because of her family, he was incensed on her behalf.

“Did you go to the police about it?”

She sighed. “No. Truthfully, he hadn’t actually committed a crime. I could have set him up, allowed him to take over and then have him arrested. In fact, my lawyer wanted to do just that. He was most insistent that I do.”

“I’d like to buy him a drink.”

Smiling, she watched as he poured her another cup of coffee. “I just wanted it over. If there had been a trial—because I know my father would never admit to anything—I would have been stuck in Georgia for who knows how long. It’s better this way.”

“Better that you’re here with me even if I would like to beat your father to a pulp.”

He said it with such a calm tone that she laughed. “I think my grandmother would have liked you.”

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