Page 45 of The Black Trilogy

“You’re cooking?”

“Don’t act so surprised.”

Luke gave me a quick tour. The formal lounge was decorated for show, fussy and uncomfortable with stiff-backed couches and tables full of knick-knacks. The dining room easily seated twelve but looked unused.

“Where do you live?”

“What?”

“Where do you spend your time? Not in these rooms, unless you really do read the copies of Woman & Home magazine on your coffee table.”

“What? No!” He led me to his den, one hand on the small of my back. “In here.”

This was more like the man-cave I’d been expecting. A messy desk dominated one end, with a battered leather sofa facing a large screen TV at the other. The dartboard on the wall had a photo pinned in the middle.

“Who’s that?” I asked, stepping closer.

He sighed. “A programmer at work. Usually, I’m a firm believer in talk rather than action, but he made some really vulgar comments about my secretary and frustration got the better of me.”

I admired his restraint. I’d have been throwing the darts at the programmer.

While the row of computers on the desk was undoubtedly for work, the surfboard propped up next to the TV and the snowboard hanging on the wall behind it hinted at Luke’s adventurous side. Maybe we had something in common?

“We’re playing in here?” I asked, spying the poker set on the coffee table.

“Yes, after we eat.”

He walked back along the hallway, and I trailed behind, enjoying the view. The house was quite nice too.

“The gym and pool are down there.” He pointed at a doorway. “But it’s getting late, so I’ll show you the shower. Will half an hour be long enough?”

What did he think I planned to do? Get ready for an evening on the red carpet?

“More than enough.”

I hadn’t taken a decent shower for a month, but I resisted the temptation to stand under the steaming water until I went pruney and got out after ten minutes. Since the house was blissfully warm, I only needed to put on jeans and a T-shirt, and I found a blow dryer in a drawer and gave my hair a quick blast. Twenty-five minutes. Slow for me.

“How’s dinner? I’m starving.”

Luke jumped at the sound of my voice. “I was expecting you to be ages yet.”

I glanced down at my watch. “I said I’d be half an hour.”

“Yes, I know, but normally when a woman says that, she takes at least double. I’ll try to hurry the food along.”

“What are we having?”

“Cheese soufflé to start, salmon asparagus gratin and steamed vegetables for the main course, then crème brûlée for dessert.”

“And you’re cooking all that?”

Did he moonlight as a Cordon Bleu chef in his spare time, or was he cheating?

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“Well, I’m heating it up.” He looked a little sheepish. That was more like it.

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