So that was how he’d done it. Simple enough. “But I tested all the locks. I was sure they worked!”
“Oh, this one works, all right. Until you raise the window. The wood around the screws has rotted. The entire lock simply slides up with the window. Close the window and the lock is in place again.” He paused. “Which means that there’s good news and bad news.”
“Mmm.” She dropped her purse on the chair just inside the front door. “The good news is that there’s no ghost. The bad news is that the moving around of things inside the house was caused by a human intruder.”
“Right. Hey, don’t look so down. Every other lock in the house is solid, so it’s just a matter of fixing this one. I’ve already been to the hardware store and picked up larger screws and packing. That’ll hold the lock until the wood can be replaced.”
“Oh, Matt, you didn’t have to.”
“I did it for my own peace of mind, if nothing else. Besides, fixing things is my speciality.” He eyed her apologetically as they entered the kitchen. “I’m not sure I did as well with dinner. I picked up some things in town, but I’m afraid I’m not all that good a cook.”
“I could have taken care of that.”
“You’ll still have to. I made a salad and husked some sweet com, but I didn’t know what in the hell to do with the chicken. At home I douse it in barbecue sauce and throw it on the grill, but you don’t have a grill, and for the life of me I couldn’t figure out how the broiler in that stove of yours works.” His eyes shot daggers at the appliance in question.
She laughed. “It doesn’t. The stove has to be replaced along with the refrigerator, the hot-water heater, the furnace—I could go on and on.”
“So what do we do with the chicken?” Opening the refrigerator, he removed the plastic-wrapped package.
“We bake it. And I’ve got a super sauce. You’ll think you’re eating the best of barbecue.” She looked toward the single cabinet on the wall beside the sink, then down at her sleeveless beige jump suit. “I’d better change first. By the way, was that a bottle of wine I saw in the refrigerator?”
He nodded. “California’s finest, already chilled. I’ll pour while you change. Then we can talk.”
Talk. For a minute she’d forgotten what they needed to discuss. She felt so good, so safe, with Matt that the last thing on her mind had been her series of recent misadventures. But she wanted to tell him. Matt was levelheaded and straightforward. She trusted that he’d be honest with her and let her know if she was making a mountain out of a molehill.
She trotted upstairs to her bedroom, changed into a pair of jeans and an oversize gray shirt that she knotted at the waist, then returned to the kitchen in record time.
Matt stood at the kitchen window, looking out at the field beyond. He spun around in surprise when she breezed into the room, then stared at her and swallowed hard.
“I … is something wrong?” She glanced down at herself.
“No. Not at all. It’s just that I’ve never seen you in play clothes.”
Lauren could have kicked herself for not having taken the time to touch up her makeup and brush out her hair. In the past those things had never mattered. She’d looked as good—or as bad—with or without the primping. She’d forgotten that she had something to work with now. But it was too late.
Self-consciously, she reached up to finger-comb her hair toward her cheek, but Matt crossed the room in two long strides and stayed her hand. “Don’t. Don’t do that.” Releasing her hand, he used his own fingers as a comb to smooth the hair back. “You look so pretty. I want to see your face.”
You look so pretty. I want to see your face.So hard to believe. So … strange. “I look tired. I should have done something.”
“You look beautiful—and with only two or three hours’ sleep.” Dipping his head, he brushed a kiss on her cheek, another closer to her mouth, then another closer still. His hand was curved around her jaw by the time he reached her lips, though Lauren wouldn’t have pulled away even if he hadn’t held her. His nearness was drugging, his kiss intoxicating. His breath mingled with hers, seeming to bring her to life as she’d never lived it before. She forgot all else but the sweet sensation of closeness, of awareness, of longing that the caress of his mouth inspired.
“Ahh,” he breathed against her lips at last, “your kiss takes me …”
“You have it … the wrong way around.”
“Then it’s reciprocal, which is why it happens to begin with.”
“This is getting confusing.”
“Mmm.” He smacked his mouth to hers, then set her back and put his wineglass in her hand. She sipped the wine, perfectly content to drink from his glass while he laid claim to the second he’d poured. “Now, let me watch you make this super sauce of yours. I want to see what you put in it.”
She grinned. “Cautious, Matthew. Hungry but cautious.”
“Quite” was all he said, but the grin he gave her stole her breath almost as completely as his kiss had. Fearing for the state of her health, she quickly set to work mixing the ingredients of her super sauce, then indulged Matt by offering him the spoon for a taste.
“Mmm.” He licked his lips. “Not bad. Not bad at all.”
“Don’t give me ‘not bad.’ It’ssuper.At least,” she added in a demure undertone, “that’s what it was called in the cookbook I took it from.”
