Page 21 of Score on You

“Well, good. I hope you’re hungry.” My heart flutters as I walk toward the kitchen.

“Famished,” he murmurs.

When I peek back at him, he’s following me closely. “I’ll just put these in water quick.”

After fetching a vase, I add the fertilizer and trim the stems. The green chrysanthemums add a fresh burst of color on the counter. A satisfied hum sweeps from me. In return, Ridge releases a pleased rumble of his own.

I glance over my shoulder to find his focus locked on me. “Shouldn’t be much longer.”

He remains standing near the table. “Can I help with anything?”

I blink at him and this unfamiliar territory. “Um, no. That’s not necessary.”

“You sure? I can be useful.”

The idea is outrageous, even after many months apart from those instilled values. A decade separated from Billmoore probably wouldn’t be enough. “You’re my guest. Not to mention a man.”

He quirks a brow. “What’s that have to do with it?”

I swallow the explanation that sits too heavy in my throat. “Just stay put.”

Ridge guffaws. “Telling me what to do?”

“N-no. I wouldn’t dare.” My chin dips on instinct.

He moves closer. “Hey, don’t get shy on me again. I was just teasing.”

That has me peeking at him. “Okay. Can I get you a drink? I’ll serve you.”

A low rumble rolls off his chest. “I’d prefer if we served each other.”

My thoughts race as I search his expression. Honesty and warmth reflect back at me. I slump against the solid surface behind me while soaking in the comfort he provides.

Sparks ignite when our eyes meet and lock. I shiver, but there’s no trace of chill. In fact, the temperature seems to spike. Most likely from his unwavering stare. Heat practically wafts from his smolder. That warmth sweeps through me, settling in my lower belly. I press a palm there to cradle the foreign sensation.

My gaze refuses to stray. Not that I’m trying to look elsewhere. I fall into a trance while getting swept away into the green depths that appear bottomless. He pulls me deeper under the spell as his lips part. At least until the unmistakable stench of burnt food filters into the air.

“Oh, shoot.” I whirl toward the oven and wrench open the door, my hands already wafting at the smoke in a futile effort. “No, no, no.”

His presence looms beside me as if offering unconditional support. “What’s wrong?”

I bite my inner cheek to stave off a cry of outrage. “Dinner is ruined. This was meant to be foolproof. I’ve made this dish dozens of times.”

“We can still eat it.” But the uncertainty in his voice is paired with a slight grimace while he peers at the charred lasagna.

“No, it’s beyond saving. In my flustered state earlier, I must’ve forgotten to set a timer.” I lift my hands to shield the threat of tears. The last shred of my dignity can be salvaged, even if a sharp cramp replaces the calm in my chest.

Suddenly, he’s lunging forward. His hurried motion stops just short of colliding with me. Ridge is towering over me, near enough to smell. I take advantage. My next breath is spiced pine mixed with reckless abandon. The scent is unique, fitting for him and this moment.

It’s only then I recognize our position. I’ve never been this close to a man who wasn’t family. Warmth explodes in my cheeks and quickly spreads like a wildfire. I fight the ingrained instinct to look away.

He lifts a palm to hover over my forearm to drag me back to the moment. “What happened?”

I lower my wrist to inspect the faded memory. “I burned dinner.”

“No, I mean this.” Ridge gestures to the inflicted area with his open palm, almost touching me.

“I burned dinner,” I repeat. “That was my punishment.”

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