He whipped his head around and stared at her, as if surprised.
“Oh, please. Don’t tell me your family hasn’t noticed.”
He grinned, fanning the flames of desire in her once more. “Sean’s called me a dictator once or twice.”
“Is he the youngest?”
“Micah’s five years older, Sean’s two, then there’s me, and Ian, the baby.”
“Baby?”
“My mother still calls him that.Her baby.” A devious look passed over Cullen’s face. “He’s twenty-five years old.”
Sarah grinned. “That’s evil. I like it.”
Cullen laughed then sobered as he stared at her in silence, his gaze penetrating as it wavered from her eyes over her face to her mouth. He finally turned back to the stove.
What the hell was that about?“Ah, Cullen?”
“What?” He kept his back to her as he fiddled with their dinner.
“I just wanted to thank you, again, for letting me stay here. If there’s anything I can do to help while I’m here, let me know. I would have taken over the kitchen chores, but I didn’t want to get in your way.”
“Then don’t.”
Silence filled the kitchen once more.
“You’re not one for conversation, are you? A real caveman,” she joked.
He didn’t say anything, and she had the oddest notion she’d hurt his feelings.
“I’m just kidding. You’re a very nice man.” Was it her imagination, or did he cringe? “You’ve been nothing but hospitable, and I really appreciate it.” He hadn’t made a pass or anything. And that shouldn’t have bothered her in the slightest. Instead, she wondered what was so wrong with her that Cullen wasn’t interested.Stupid woman,her bird snapped. Shut up, bird.
“I’m, ah, not used to company. Outside of family, I mean,” he muttered.
“You all live here all the time?” she asked, curious about his family.
“Yeah.”
Great, another one-word answer. Trying to learn more about Cullen Whitefeather from the man himself was like pulling teeth. If it weren’t for those strange, intense looks he gave her, she’d think him totally immune to her presence.
Cullen slid whatever he had cooked in the skillet onto two plates, then grabbed forks and joined her at the island.
“Dig in.”
He didn’t wait for her, but tore into his food like a man possessed. Kind of the way he ate at the diner, all business. Still, watching him was like looking at a work of art. The way his forearms bunched, the muscles prominent beneath the rolled-up sleeves of his flannel shirt. The strong chords of his throat as he swallowed. The steady rise and fall of his muscular chest, so close, yet not close enough to touch…
“Sarah?”
She met his gaze, embarrassed to be caught staring. “Ah, I was wondering…” She paused, not knowing what to say.
“Yeah?” His face was inscrutable.
“Where did you learn to cook?” That sounded innocuous enough.
He visibly relaxed, and she relaxed with him.
“My mother. She taught all of us how to cook, but I like it.” He stopped himself and she leaned forward.
