Page 30 of Surrender
“Me?”
“You.” And if she wasn’t mistaken, she had found herself as well. Nowhere had she ever been so at home. With no one had she been so at ease. She let that hang on the air for a long moment then took in a breath of him. “You smell like cooking.”
“Sorry about that.” He stood up straight. “I can take a quick shower.”
“No, no, don’t.” She hadn’t meant it that way at all. She sat up in her seat urging him to come back closer. “I like it.”
The look in her eyes was intense, irresistible, a call he couldn’t resist but would at least hold at bay for as long as possible. Which wouldn’t be very long but just so he could say he didn’t jump her bones the very second she walked through the door, he would stall. It was the gentlemanly thing to do after all.
She quickly finished her drink. The ice clinked as she placed her empty glass on the bar.
“Would you like to see my kitchen?”
She blinked in surprise. By the way his eyes blazed she had expected him to dive across the bar the moment her glass touched the wood. “Your kitchen?”
“I’ll introduce you to Bess.”
Amused and curious, her brow lifted. “Bess?”
“She’s new,” he said with an exaggerated reverence. “State-of-the-art. Induction and gas. She hums when she preheats. And I can’t live without her.”
That made her laugh—sharp, bright, and unexpected. “You're talking about your stove?”
He grinned. “What can I say? She’s beautiful, reliable, and she makes everything better.”
“You named your stove? You’re smitten.”
“Hopelessly.”
She followed him through the swinging door into the kitchen, and for a second, she just stood there, taking it all in. Stainless steel surfaces gleamed. Pans were stacked with precision. Everything was spotless. And in the center of it all stood his pride and joy, Bess—sleek, shining, and clearly adored.
“There she is,” Keefe said, running a hand along the stovetop like he was introducing her to royalty. “Look at her. Isn’t she gorgeous?”
“You know, under different circumstances, I might be a little jealous,” she teased as she folded her arms, one brow arching. “I bet you bring all your dates back here.”
“Only you,” he said, stepping closer making the small space between them sizzle. “So, do you cook?”
She shook her head. “Not really. Enough that I don’t starve but I tend to burn just about everything. But I have herb plants in my apartment. I like the smell of them.” She smiled and dropped her hands, a little breathless now. “So, how long have you been a chef?”
“I’m not a chef,” he said. “Just a cook. I tried culinary school, but it wasn’t for me so I dropped out.”
She could respect that. “How did your family feel about that?”
“At first my parents were furious but they came around.”
She tilted her head. “What changed their minds?”
“My sister, Sophie. She told them it was the right choice. Stood up for me.”
Gwen admired a man who spoke so thoughtfully of his own sister. “She must love you.”
“We’re close. More than most siblings, so we’re told. We’re twins, you see.”
“Are you now? That’s interesting. Yes, I can see how that would make you closer. You’ve known each other your whole lives.”
The conversation was taking a sentimental turn and while both were happy to revisit this moment, now was not the time either wanted to talk about sibling relationships.
Their eyes locked.
