Page 38 of Down & Dirty

Bruce: Get there faster.

Cory: The curiosity about my absence isjust as good.

Bruce: Not to Harmsch it’s not.

I’d been sitting on a stool at my kitchen bar trying to remember the last time a woman had cooked for me—or I’d cooked for her. And I couldn’t picture it. It might have been Cass. But the possibility that it had been that long ago was depressing, so I shoved the idea from my mind and focused on appreciating the view before me.

And what a view it was.

Skylar was in a short sundress the color of the goldenrod that used to line our driveway in Maine every summer. Her hair was piled on top of her head in a messy bun—all but a single section that had slipped loose at the base of her neck. It hung down between her shoulders, swishing back and forth as she moved around my kitchen like some sort of lure, dancing against her skin, just begging to be brushed aside and replaced with a set of warm lips...

Whoa. Where the hell did that come from?

I’d obviously gotten more used to Sky’s physical presence the last few weeks. Between our dinner dates and the way we interacted more freely at the office, things had warmed up considerably between us. But for the most part, I’d managed to keep my head out of the gutter.

For the most part—you can’t blame a guy for indulging in a few errant thoughts when a woman was as beautiful as Sky, and shaped like she was molded from your every fucking fantasy.

But when she’d touched my arm at the garage that morning, it was like the air had shifted. It wasn’t like anything I’d felt before, and it caught me off guard. And then when she offered to come here, that sensation only grew stronger. I realized just being around her, no show to put on, sounded fucking amazing. These were not developments I’d anticipated when we started all this, but I didn’t hate them. Far from it.

“Do you have any spices? I forgot my oregano.”

I slid off the stool, moving a bit more gingerly after my fall on the course today. I’d done plenty of stretching and taken some pain meds before Sky came over, hoping to conceal how much my back had tightened up.

“Do I have spices? What kind of home-ec drop out do you take me for?”

Sky’s laughter pinged off the bare walls. “As if you ever cook in this kitchen. I bet the local delivery joints have you on a schedule.”

I pulled open the drawer I kept all my spices in, waving a hand Vanna-White-style over the numerous tiny bottles. I flashed her an arrogant grin as she rolled her eyes.

“The only thing I get delivered is Thai food. And that’s only because I’ve never figured out how to keep those damn noodles from sticking together.”

Sky grabbed the oregano and shoved the drawer closed with her hip. “I don’t believe you. Mr. Flash and Fancy getting his hands dirty on chop meat is just not an image I can conjure.”

I leaned my shoulder into the fridge to watch as she did just that, sprinkling the bowl of meat on the counter with the herbs and breadcrumbs she’d brought and then combining it all with her hands.

She hadn’t told me what she was making, but when she showed up with fixings for spaghetti and meatballs, I nearly fell over. I hadn’t had homemade Italian in years, and knowing her mom was one hundred percent gave me high hopes for the masterpiece I was about to enjoy.

Truthfully, she could have brought over stuff for peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and I’d have been happy.

When she cracked two eggs and dropped them into the mixture I reached for the shells and tossed them in the trash.

“I might not have your skills, sweetheart, but I try.” She glanced up at me, amused. “I’d even try for you sometime, if we decide to do this again.”

It was a long shot. I was half expecting her to get pissed at me partway through dinner and leave before we’d finished. Although, maybe that wasn’t giving either of us enough credit. Things had smoothed out considerably, and this evening was a perfect example of that. Maybe we were becoming friends...

“I think I’ll stick with take-out,” she tossed back as she bent to put the sheet of meatballs in the oven. “Food poisoning isn’t how I see myself going out.”

“Suit yourself. If you don’t want to sample my delicacies, that’s your loss.”

Sky turned back to me with rounded eyes, her mouth hanging open in a wide smile. “I’m a lady, sir. I’ll be keeping yourdelicacieswell away from my mouth.”

The subtle charge of the room changed. It was a joke, and a bad one. But the way Skylar held my gaze for a second longer set off an alarm in my gut. A low warning of ignition. There weren’t supposed to be any sparks between us, but if we kept up this kind of shit, there might be.

Because as much as we were talking about her mouth on me, suddenly the only thing in my head was my mouth on her. On all of her. Every goddamn inch of perfect soft skin.

I swallowed, shaking my head as I reached for the bottle of wine I’d pulled out. I needed to do something with my hands.

Clearing my throat, “You said red, so I hope a malbec will do?”

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