He chuckled.
The blasted man had the nerve to chuckle.
She swallowed with no small amount of struggle, before, at last, she was able to say, “If you start suggesting suitors again, I shall launch a pie at your bloody head.”
Dev held his hands wide in apology, its sincerity questionable. “Peace.”
The threat had been an empty one, for she had no intention of wasting a perfectly innocent pie in such a manner. In fact, she fully intended to enjoy a heaping slice of it later. But her point was made, and she was able to experience a modicum of relief. She could have her cake and her peace, too.
When Dev pushed off the doorjamb and crossed the room, her relief proved short-lived.
He pulled out a chair and sat beside her.
There was her peace gone.
“Cut me a slice, will you?”
She couldn’t very well refuse the man, now could she? This was his kitchen—and his cake.
As he sank his fork into dense sponge and took a bite, she gauged his reaction. He nodded with well-considered appreciation. He even moaned. “Delicious.”
She offered a smile of agreement, and they ate in silence, a measure of the tension pulsing between them dissolved into companionability. None could doubt the sure diplomatic capability of a shared sweet.
He put his fork down and met her eye. “Can we talk as we once did? Like friends?”
As we once did.
He was referring to that period ofbetweentime.
The specific time that ranged fromafterthey’d made their arrangement to the timebefore…
The time before they’d becomesomething more.
“What would you like to talk about, friend?”
That pulled a smile from him. She just had it in her to resist that same pull. “The guests seem to be enjoying the entertainments.”
It was bland, as conversation went—and safe, too.
She could tolerate the former, if it meant having the latter.
“Well, they would,” she replied.
His head cocked with interest. “You make it sound predetermined.”
A dry laugh escaped her. “In a way, it is. This party is a confluence of everything thetonlives for. A beautiful house. Myriad entertainments. Delicious food. Flowing champagne and spirits. And a perfect host willing to indulge their every whim.”
He nodded, slowly, as if giving the matter deep consideration. At last, he said, “You think I’m perfect?” A teasing light shone in his eyes.
She liked it.
“As a host,” she teased back.
His smile turned devilish. “I must be perfect in other ways, too.”
She felt her brow lift.
“One who achieves perfection in one way would surely seek to achieve it in all others.”
