Heart quickening, he shook his head and looked away. No. No, it wasn’t strange at all. It was beautiful, like this woman. Though she was injured and just recently feverish and dangerous to begin with, he couldn’t help wanting her as he’d wanted nothing before. He reached for his glass and took a long swig of wine.
And all of this, he knew, was a bad idea.
* * *
Abby watched Luc use tongs to take two knots of spaghetti from the pot and put it onto their plates with a deft twist of the wrist and top each with a ladle full of thick, red sauce. All of it—her intense hunger, the smell, that practiced move, the way his handsome face creased in concentration—settled in her chest.
His back, thick and vital, stretched the shirt he wore, his strength painfully evident. And despite that obvious strength, she felt no fear when she watched him. Only affection.
That was a lie. There was more than affection simmering inside. There was that tension he always seemed to bring out in her. Like excitement, except darker. Deeper, maybe.
A clatter from the sink brought Abby’s mind back to the mind-boggling fact that he’d helped her prepare dinner. Andservedit to her, while she sat at the table. The sight of him rinsing off the serving spoon should have made everything seem practical or utilitarian, but even that didn’t rid her of thatfeeling.
“I can do that,” she said, rising to stand beside him.
“I’m sure you could” was his only response. She waited impatiently for him to stop, turn around, leave the job to her.Women’s work.He put the spoon in the drying rack. “Sit and eat your food,” he said, holding out her chair with a smile.
Oh, that smile.
After a brief hesitation, during which everything—every life experience Abby had ever had—did a final, definitive flip-flop in her brain, winding up somewhere below her belly button, she finally sat down.I belong here.The words shimmered in her brain, although she wasn’t sure if they meant “out here in the world” or “here, with him.”
She smiled at him shyly and turned her eyes to the food on her plate—much easier than looking at the man, because goodness, he was blinding.
As they ate, she found herself sinking again into a desire to touch him, to test his skin and run her fingers through his hair. She couldn’t guess if it would be soft or coarse, and in a moment of utter certainty, she knew she didn’t want toguess. She wanted toknow. All of it—how the longish hair would feel against the skin of her face. And those hands, deft and efficient—how would they touch her body? With power and competence, she suspected, which had quite the appeal.
She felt his eyes on her and wondered how long she’d spent in her dreamland.
“There’s a specific way to eat spaghetti, if you’re interested.”
“Like pruning?”
He smiled. “Yes. We Europeans enjoy our traditions.”
Using his fork, he gathered the long strands and wound them into the bowl of his spoon. For a brief, nearly hysterical moment, Abby thought she might swoon from the beauty of him. In any other household, anywhere in the world, this would be mundane—but here, with her a freakish outsider, this was incredibly sensual.
Only the man doesn’t know it. Time to calm down.
She tried imitating his moves, with half of his ability and some success. Still, the spaghetti was…
Around a mouthful of the stuff, she said, “This isdivine.” Her eyes closed of their own accord, giving her tongue a chance to take it all in without him distracting her. Another bite—not too fast, not too fast—was slightly different. The flavors came together with notes she recognized: herbs, tomatoes, onions. She’d thought the pasta would taste like bread, but it didn’t. It was soft and chewy. And—
Luc cleared his throat across from her, and Abby looked up to find him focused on her, his blue eyes glittering, mouth not quite closed. Goodness, she’d disappeared again, hadn’t she? Embarrassed, she swallowed too much too soon, sputtered a bit, and said, “I’ve been told I have my head in the clouds.”
After a beat, he answered, “If I had to guess, I wouldn’t say in the clouds.”
She swallowed. “Where, then?”
“Right here,” he said with a smile that Abby couldn’t help but return.
“They just meant that I’m always dreaming. I go into my head or—”
“I see what they meant. They’re wrong.”
Abby stopped, fork and spoon suspended in the air. It felt like it might matter, this response. What did he see that nobody else had?
As he opened his mouth and closed it, color rose to his face to settle high and pink on his cheekbones. It was charming how often he blushed.
“Here, drink.”
