Thanksgiving dawnedovercast and cold with the threat of rain. Claire had risen when it was still dark outside to start dinner preparations. She was an adequate cook, but for four years, she’d only had to cook for herself and Jake. Chicken tenders and fish sticks for him, spaghetti, salad in a bag, or the occasional pan-grilled steak for her didn’t exactly expand her culinary skills. She prayed her efforts today wouldn’t see Andor driving them to a 24-hour greasy spoon just to get an ediblemeal.
Andor arrived at noon. Claire met him at the door holding a chef’s knife in one hand. He backed up a step and held up a bottle of wine. “Surely, an Old Vine Zin can garner me somemercy.”
Claire huffed a strand of hair out of her face and waved him inside. “I’m glad you’rehere.”
He eased passed her, gaze steady on the knife. “I can seethat.”
She chuckled and gestured for him to follow her into the kitchen. Andor paused when he saw Jake sitting at the table winding and unwinding a skein of yarn around his hand. “Hi, Jake. Enjoying time off fromschool?”
Jake didn’t look up from his task, but he smiled a little and without any encouragement from Claire said “Hi,Dor.”
Claire almost dropped the knife. She choked back an excited yelp and glanced at Andor. He set the wine on the table and crouched near the boy but not so close as to crowd him. “Have you been helping your mom with Thanksgiving dinner?” This time only silence met his question, and Claireanswered.
“He cleaned off the table and helped me setit.”
Instead of ruffling Jake’s hair or patting him on the shoulder, Andor knocked gently on the table. “Good job, Jake. That’s a nice thing to do for yourmom.”
He stood and gave her a smile. “How can Ihelp?”
She led him into the tiny kitchen, fragrant with the scent of herbs and roasted vegetables. All the counters except one were covered with an assortment of grocery supplies and pans. A turkey breast, still in its wrapping, rested in one pan near a cutting board layered with choppedvegetables.
Andor sniffed. “It smellsgood.”
Claire scraped the vegetables into a waiting roasting pan. “Thanks. It’s the stock for the gravy and a pan ofdressing.”
“Dressing?”
She mentally backed up. “Stuffing. This part of the country, we call it dressing.” She paused. “Is this your first Thanksgiving?” She sort of hoped it might be. He couldn’t compare her food to someone else’sthen.
He snagged one of the aprons hanging on a hook attached to the pantry door and tied it around his narrow waist. “No. It’s my third. I’m still trying to decide if the bird they served at the last Thanksgiving I went to was actually a turkey or an ostrich. It was enormous.” He cracked his knuckles. “Now, how may I act as souschef?”
Trying not to gawk too much at how a man could look that sexy in an apron, she passed him a boning knife from her knife block. “I don’t suppose you can de-bone a turkeybreast?”
Much to Claire’s lack of surprise, he could, and he was scarily efficient. “You were a butcher once, weren’tyou?”
Andor grinned as he tossed the bones into the trash. “For a littlewhile.”
Not only did he de-bone the turkey, he butterflied it on her instructions, stuffed it with the roasted red pepper and goat cheese filling she’d prepared, rolled and tied it into a roulade, slathered it in duck fat and slid the pan into the oven. Fast, efficient, capable, and sexy beyondbelief.
They worked together, teasing each other about Andor’s jack-of-all-trades skills and Claire’s assurances that the poultry in the oven was definitely turkey and not emu. She left him alone in the kitchen a few times, whipping egg whites or stirring cranberries in a saucepan, while she checked on Jake, took him for bathroom breaks and fed himsnacks.
When the cooking was done and the table groaning with food, Claire surveyed their handiwork, propped her hands on her hips and grinned at Andor. “We make a goodteam.”
His smile wasn’t as wide but far more intense. “Yes, wedo.”
That euphoric tide that always rushed through her every time he complimented her or even stood near her, struck her again. Stronger this time. Harder. It left her tongue-tied for a moment. She tried for a lighthearted response instead of the one she really wanted to give. “I still have a hard time believing you’re not married or in arelationship.”
As quickly as that rush of joy struck, it abandoned her at Andor’s suddenly grim expression. What had shesaid?
“I’m not married, Claire,” he said softly. “I do consider myself in a relationship.” Those blue eyes burned like gas flames. “Withyou.”
Claire crushed her apron in her fingers. Her “You do?” came out as an incoherent squeak. She tried again. “You do?” He nodded. “But you haven’t even kissed meyet.”
The hard angles of his face softened. The faint smile returned. Claire’s “Ohhh niiicce” made him chuckle into her hair as he slid his arms around her and pulled her tightly against hisbody.
He bent his head and Claire inhaled sharply as he nuzzled her neck just below her ear. Powerful shoulders flexed under her hands. “Patience, Claire,” he whispered. “I will kiss you, and when I do, I won’t stop with a kiss.” Deep laughter tickled her ear. “Or maybe I will, but it will be the first of a thousand, along with all the caresses that will accompanythem.”
Her knees gave out, and she sagged in his arms. Andor caught her up, one hand sliding down to cup her butt. “Don’t faint,” heteased.
