“You cooked for me?” I’m touched. Other than my mom and sisters, I can’t recall any woman ever cooking me dinner. It’s the kind of thing a girlfriend would do, and I don’t have girlfriends, as a rule.
Her blush deepens. “I was making some anyway, so I just doubled the portions. If you’re not hungry, I can put it in the fridge for later.”
“Thank you.”She’s so sweet. “That sounds great.”
“Good.” She smiles. “I can bring it in here.”
I wince. I might have emphasized my desire to be alone a little too much if she doesn’t even expect me to sit with her while we eat. “I’ll join you. I hadn’t thought about food, so thanks. It was nice of you to make extra.”
“No problem.” She retreats to the living area. I wait until she’s gone, then struggle to put a sweater on. It’s difficult to get it over my head and manipulate my left arm into the sleeve. I get there eventually, but I’m glad I didn’t try to do it in front of her. The last thing I need is for the curvy beauty to view me as an invalid, the same way my sisters do. I don’t think my ego could survive.
Lucia is on the sofa in the living room. There’s no dining table, so she has her plate on her lap, and mine is sitting on the coffee table. I reach for it, hoping she doesn’t notice the way my hand trembles as I sit next to her. I leave a couple of feet of space between us so I’m not tempted to do something stupid, like touch her or kiss her. She’s prepared chicken with a sweet-scented golden glaze—perhaps honey—and baked vegetables. I dig in and discover it tastes as good as it looks.
“This is delicious,” I tell her.
She beams. “Thanks. I like to cook, but it’s always nicer when there’s someone else to appreciate it.”
“My mom and sisters would agree with that.”
She cocks her head. “How many sisters do you have?”
“Four.”
Her mouth forms anO. “Wow. I can’t imagine. It must have been a busy house growing up.”
I chuckle at the memory. “Definitely. It was all kinds of crazy.”
I scan the room, looking for signs of what she’s been up to since she arrived, but she must be a tidy person because there’s hardly any indication someone has been living here, except for the open laptop on the coffee table. I nod toward it. “Tell me more about your book.”
Her expression pinches. “Oh, you don’t want to know the details. I’ll bore you to death if you encourage me.”
“No, really,” I assure her. “It beats talking about my injury, which is all I’ve gotten to do since last Saturday.”
Her lips purse and she looks so anxious I almost tell her not to worry about it. But I want to know. She intrigues me. She always has.
After a moment, she sighs and her shoulders slump. She murmurs something I can barely hear.
“What was that?” I ask, leaning closer.
“It’s a romance novel,” she repeats more loudly.
“A romance?”Oh.“But I thought you said it was an English historical novel.”
“It’s that too,” she says. “But mostly, it’s a romance.” Her cheeks are the prettiest shade of pink. “I don’t like to tell people because they usually tease me or look down their noses at me for it.”
“I won’t do either,” I promise. Learning she’s writing a romance novel is a timely reminder that I can’t act on my desire for her. It wouldn’t be fair when she’s clearly a romantic at heart, and I’m the sort of person who’d shatter her illusions. “I think it’s impressive you’re writing a book, whatever type it is. Not many people would be able to say they’ve done that.” Although I could never read a romance novel myself. I wouldn’t be able to suspend my disbelief for long enough to buy into the notion of happily ever after.
She smiles shyly. “Thanks. I’m still not going to tell you the plot, though. I’m working out the kinks, and I don’t want to jinx it.”
“Fair enough.” I fork chicken into my mouth. “I tore my rotator cuff tendon. It’s going to take at least a couple of months to heal. Might need surgery, but I hope not.”
“I hope not too.” Her expression is sympathetic. “That must be scary for you.”
I nod but don’t say anything more, and she doesn’t pry. We finish our meal in relative silence, and I offer to clean up, which I regret as soon as I realize how difficult it’s going to be. Fortunately, she disappears into another room, and soon after, I hear the shower start. I’m pleased not to have an audience as I battle to do an everyday task. When I finally finish, I head for the main bedroom, but as I pass the hallway, I catch a glimpse of Lucia’s shapely legs as she darts from the bathroom across to her bedroom, wrapped in only a towel. My dick stiffens and I groan. Living with her temporarily is going to be hell.
Lucia
I wake wrapped in a blanket burrito, snug and warm, and smile as the soft light of the morning sun passes through the filmy curtain. I had an amazing sleep, and I’m optimistic for the day ahead. Perhaps I’ll have a breakthrough. I slip from the bed and pad barefoot through the cottage, finding the living area empty. I frown. There’s no sign of Tony, and for a moment I’m gripped by the possibility I might have dreamed the whole thing, but then I see the dishes draining on the bench and know he’s been here. But even though he must be around, he hasn’t left any evidence of his presence in the living room. The door to themaster bedroom is ajar, and the bed is empty. He must have gone out.
