He glanced back from the open fridge, lifting one eyebrow at her. “Okay?”
“Of course,” she said, aware of the blush rising hotly in her cheeks, but she smiled anyway. If she was going to spend any more time around Sheriff Callahan, she might as well get used to being permanently flushed.
She perched on a stool at the butcher-block island, forcing herself to focus on the kitchen instead of the way his back flexed with muscle as he worked. His hair was longer now than at the cabin, still just as silky looking, and suddenly she wanted to run her fingers through it. She’d kiss him right where it ended, just above the collar of his shirt, and taste all that warm, musky male skin.
Lord. One weekend of the greatest sex of her life and she was suddenly a hormonal teenager again.
She looked around to distract herself. The kitchen was safe territory, at least. It was straight out of her dreams. Open shelves, plenty of counter space, and a large window above the sink that probably framed a perfect view of the apple trees in bloom in the orchard out back.
“Did you eat?” Rush asked over his shoulder.
She winced, remembering her unfortunate date. “Does pretending to eat the breadbasket count?”
Rush glanced over. A swirl of dark, silky-looking hair fell over his forehead, giving him a rakish look. His mouth twitched in amusement. “That bad, huh?”
Guilt pricked at her. “I’m sure Bradley’s a very nice man.” She hesitated then added wickedly, “When he’s not ingesting cheese. But alas, I don’t think he’s the one for me,” she saidlightly. “I just hate disappointing all the well-meaning grandmas who keep setting me up with these wholesome, sensible men who talk about their digestion on the first date.”
He gave her a look that pinned her in place. “You could just say no.”
Heat crept up her throat, and she tugged at her sleeve. “I don’t like letting people down,” she admitted a trifle defensively. “I’m working on it.”
He didn’t press, just held her gaze with a steady look that made her want to squirm, and went back to rummaging in the fridge. “I’ll make you something to eat.”
“Okay,” she said, eyeing the contents of the fridge skeptically. The shelves were exactly what she expected: a few take-out cartons of Chinese food, a gallon of milk, a package of deli meat and… wine coolers? “Interesting choice of drink you have there,” she teased, nodding toward the fridge. “I would’ve pegged you for a beer guy.”
Rush glanced at the pink bottles, a smile tugging the corner of his mouth up and making her insides do a little dance again.Down, girl.
“Rachel and Sarah,” he said with a wry grin. “They drop by way too often to check on me. Rachel’s convinced I’ll become a hermit out here, and Sarah’s convinced my soulmate is one of her sorority sisters.” He shuddered and shook his head. “Drives me nuts. You want one? Or there’s beer, coffee?—”
“A beer sounds perfect,” she said impulsively, surprising herself.
His smile widened as he handed her a bottle, and his fingers brushed against hers, sending another warm jolt straight through her body and all the way up to her nipples, making them tighten in response.
Still crazy amounts of chemistry there.
“How are your sisters?” she asked, trying desperately to lookworldly and sophisticated, like standing in a man’s kitchen after she’d had life-altering sex with him and making small talk was a normal occurrence for her.
Rush turned back to the fridge, shifting and gathering things. Clearly, he was not a stranger to this kind of situation. “They’re good, mostly grown up now. Rachel lives in Northfield now to be closer to Pop, and Sarah’s in Buffalo, finishing up her senior year.” He pulled out a sad-looking onion and a bell pepper that had seen better days.
“And your grandpa? How’s he doing?” she asked.
Rush bent again to get the eggs and add them to the ingredients on the counter. “Pop’s good. He doesn’t complain. He’s eighty-eight. Alzheimer’s is tough, and his heart’s not great, but he’s hanging in there. This house got to be too much for him to keep up with a few years ago. I see him once a week at least. The girls visit whenever they can.”
“I’m sorry,” she murmured soberly. “That must be hard.”
“Some days are good, some bad.”
She shifted the mood back toward easier territory. “You know that thing’s supposed to be red, right?” she teased, nodding at the pepper when he finally turned around.
Rush grinned. “Color’s optional. Texture’s what matters.”
“Words to live by,” she said, watching as he pushed up the sleeves of his Henley, exposing strong, corded forearms, and started chopping. He was more efficient than graceful, but he clearly knew his way around a kitchen.
She tried not to stare. Really. But there was something about the way he moved that made it impossible not to. He was confident and efficient with his motions, and the dancer in her admired the strong lines of his body as he sliced and chopped.
His strong shoulders shifted beneath the fitted fabric of his shirt with each slice of the knife, and her mind, horny and traitorous, flicked back to the cabin for the millionth time. Tohis long, strong body above hers. To the way he’d kissed her. Tasted her. Spread her open and grinned up at her, his white teeth flashing against the dark silk of his mustache, just before he?—
She fanned herself discreetly and forced herself to look somewhere, anywhere other than at pure temptation.
