Nelly’s face heated. “Um…”
Clark’s eyes gleamed in the twinkling lights. Leaning back against the sink, he gave her a slow perusal. It was impossible, but she swore she could feel his gaze running possessively over every inch of her skin.
“Dinner,” he purred.
It took her a second to catch up, mostly because he’d shamelessly widened his stance, showing off not only his sculpted, denim-encased thighs, trim waist wrapped in what had to be a butter-soft leather belt, but the unmissable erection straining against his inner thigh and the fly of his jeans.
Good gods in the sky.
“I…” Nelly forced herself to look away. Her body rebelled against her hard-won caution, leaving her achy and hot and embarrassingly damp between her thighs.
Clark’s fingers tightened over the lip of the sink. Every muscle in that big body appeared to tense as his eyelids drooped. In a husky voice, he said, “Sugar, I’d love to take care of you right now.”
For better or worse, Nelly wasn’t sexually inexperienced. She’d pushed herself out of her comfort zone several times, mostly to disappointing ends, and so she knew a sensual promise when she heard one.
But never in all her life had a man’s voice set her on fire.
She caught herself before she took a full step in his direction and flushed hotter knowing that Clark had seen the aborted movement. It was impossible for him not to, what with the way he tracked her like a predator about to pounce.
“You… mean you want to make dinner?” She winced as soon as the words left her mouth. They both knew he wasn’t talking about dinner. Worse, they both knew thatthey both knewhe wasn’t talking about dinner.
Luckily he didn’t seem inclined to laugh at her. Clark’s lips quirked. “Sure thing. I’m happy to make you dinner, so long as you keep me company.”
He gave the counter top beside the sink a pat. “C’mere, sugar. Let me feed you something good.”
It was a miracle she didn’t choke on air.Sweet, well-mannered cowboy? Where?The man was a menace.
If she was smart, she would say no. There was absolutely no reason for her to sit on the counter a foot away from him while he made them dinner — something she was against in the first place, but he’d insisted on it after she made them lunch.
Nelly had to admit that maybe she wasn’t as smart as she thought, since she was already walking away from the window to join him in the kitchen. Even if she could have resisted the attraction that made her blood rush through her veins, she didn’t think she would have been as successful fighting the look of raw satisfaction that flashed across Clark’s face.
“Thatta girl,” he praised, giving the counter another pat. “Up you get.”
Nelly eyed the counter. Like everything else in the cottage, it was built for orcs. That meant it was approximately six inches taller than a human-built kitchen counter would be. It wasn’t much of an issue day to day, but it definitely wasn’t something she could jump up on.
“I need to grab a stool.”
“Nah. Not when you’ve got me.” Clark stepped close, nearly pinning her against the counter. “Let me give you a lift.”
Once again, those strong hands closed over her hips and hoisted her up. Clark deposited her gently. His fingers lingered on her sides, pressing just enough for her to feel the pads sinking into her flesh. He leaned down slowly. For a second, she thought he was going to kiss her again.
Shewantedhim to kiss her again, she realized, heart beating an exhilarated rhythm. In her lust-addled state, she didn’t care what that meant. She didn’t even care what she’d see. All that mattered was the taste of him on her lips and the sweet rush of attraction.
But he didn’t kiss her. Instead, Clark offered her a slow, sensual smile and asked, “What do you want for dinner, sugar?”
You.She wanted to eat Clark up.
“Um… There are leftovers in the fridge,” she said instead, squeezing her thighs together to keep from opening them, encouraging him to step closer.
He shook his head and gave her a playfully reproachful look. “We can have leftovers tomorrow. You made us breakfast and lunch. I want to cook something for you.”
She could only nod helplessly. In her family, making food together and for one another was their love language. Some of her sweetest memories were in the kitchen, helping her father roast peppers on the comal or decorating sugar cookies with her sister. Her mother wasn’t a cook, but she always sat in the kitchen with them and told stories while her family buzzed around her, listening intently.
It did a host of funny things to her insides to know Clark wanted to cook for her, just like her father always insisted on cooking for her mother.
Feeling suddenly shy, she whispered, “I’d like that.”
Clark gave her hips a gentle squeeze. “Good. I’ll take a look and see what I can whip up for us, but I’ve got some questions first.”
