“What are we having?” asked Luke, grinning as he followed her into the kitchen.
He watched as she bent over to take something out of the oven, her round, perfect ass covered in faded denim stretched tight over her glorious curves.
“Let me help you,” he said as she hoisted a huge chicken in a well-loved red casserole dish from the oven, setting it on the stove top to rest. “God, that smells good.”
“I’ve got this. You can get the wine if you want.”
He moved, happy to oblige her and pulled a bottle of du Martray Chardonnay out of the small under the cabinet wine refrigerator. He opened the bottle and poured a glass for each of them before coming to stand behind her at the counter. She’d poured dressing on the salad and was using tongs to mix it all up. It probably made him a Neanderthal, but seeing her making food in his – no fuck, their – kitchen, her hair pulled back and wearing the barest hint of makeup was quite possibly the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.
Her bare feet and pretty painted toes stuck out from under the hem of her faded jeans and damned he didn’t finish thein the kitchen barefoot andsaying in his head. Instead of sending him bolting for the door to burn the image from his head with a string of fast cars and faster women, the idea of having a baby with Claire cracked something wide open in his chest, and he had his own Grinch-whose-heart-grew-three-times moment.
Watching that stupid movie after his dad passed out drunk was his only real holiday memory. The idea of his own heart busting the picture frame like the Grinch’s made him laugh out loud.
“What’s so funny, Masters?” Claire nestled her body against his, her gorgeous ass pressing against his increasingly distracting cock.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. I like coming home to you in the kitchen. I like coming home to you, period.” He nuzzled her neck, hoping to distract her enough that she wouldn’t push him on what made him laugh. He’d rather have her bust him for being a misogynistic caveman than explain to her that the idea of knocking her up apparently had a positive effect on his personal growth.
“Don’t get used to it,” she said, stiffening. “I can’t spend another day here. At home.” She added, and his heartbeat went back to normal. “My mother was awesome at it, but I’m not cut out for it.”
“I know you’re anxious to get started on the Chestnut Street house,” he said, trying to steer the conversation back to something less likely to keep him from getting laid. “But could you spare a couple more days? Sparks says your crew is ahead of schedule on the Ashton Court job.”
“Why?” asked Claire, turning in his arms to face him, clearly suspicious.
“I’m thinking of taking on another property. Ashton Court will be finished soon, and the owner of a site I’ve been watching just found himself in need of some cash. I think it could be a good fit, but I want to see it in person again before I make an offer, and I want you to come with me.”
He watched as her apprehension turned to interest, and he bit back a grin. He loved how expressive her face was, loved that he could tell what she was thinking just by looking at her, but he didn’t think she’d be happy if she thought he was laughing at her again. And for what he had planned for the rest of the night, he wanted her happy and agreeable.
“I guess I could do that, but why do you want me to come? Haven’t you done this dozens of times on your own?”
“Yes, but it seems I can’t stand the idea of being away from you, even for one or two nights,” he said, admitting the thing that still shocked him the most. Now that he had her back, he couldn’t imagine spending a night without Claire in his arms. “And you have a good eye. If you see the property with me, when the drawings come back you can help make sure I get it right.”
She nodded, looking pleased with his answer. “Okay. When do we leave?”
