Chapter Eight
“Hey.” Elena opened the door, and it was like her biological clock reversed a good fifteen years. How could her heart not gallop at the sight of him, leaning against the threshold and holding a large bouquet of pink tulips? A V-neck shirt hugged his large frame without being too tight, and dark denim outlined those gorgeous legs she had yet to see. Wow.
He glanced at his watch. Not the reaction she expected. “Are you ready?”
“I…cooked,” she said, and gestured toward the table she had laid in record time. Martha Stewart herself would have been proud. She had produced a flowery linen table cloth, and the Pottery Barn silverware, plus the fancy cloth napkins and not two, but three types of glasses. An array of sweet pea scented candles, big and small, sat in the middle of the table.
He frowned. “Oh.”
“Is that okay? I figured, it would probably be best if no one saw us in public anyway. To keep it low profile.” After your scandal. Your sex scandal.
“Sure.”
He entered her townhouse and studied it. The contrast of his manly looks against the soft pink on the walls and the pastel-colored sofas and accent pieces could be laughable, if she weren’t so freaking nervous. She touched her stomach, wishing all the emotions swimming inside would come to a stop.
“Wine?” She smoothed her hand over her apron.
“Whatever you’re having.”
She dashed into the kitchen, and grabbed a red wine she hoped would impress him. After all, she had Googled and gone shopping at the European shop a few blocks from her place. With trembling fingers, she opened the drawer, searching for the corkscrew.
If only she had kept that modern wine opening thingy they’d received as a wedding gift after her divorce. Shit. She grabbed a glass and splashed some water from the tap, then drank it like she had gone hiking in the woods and her throat was parched. Damn.
Breathe in. Breathe out.She tried to follow the mantra, but the nausea only worsened. With cold hands, she left the wine on the counter and removed her apron. The scents of the spices she had used were like a stubborn yet pleasant fragrance in the kitchen, and she glanced at the lasagna cooling on the stove.
At least she had that going for her. Her family recipe. Unless, of course, Devon hated pasta. “Do you like Italian?” she yelled.
“Wouldn’t be here otherwise,” he answered, his voice far too close.
She turned around, and found him closing the gap between them. “Can you open the wine?”
“Sure.” He took the bottle from the counter. “Why are you nervous?”
“Er, it’s like I’m losing my virginity all over again. Sorry. I bet that was the worst thing I could have said. Crap.” She exhaled and her breath lifted her bangs. “I just don’t wanna be the worst woman in bed you’ll ever sleep with.”
He threw back his head in a hearty laugh. “Are you for real?”
She opened the fridge and removed the bowl of Caesar salad she had prepared earlier. “Yes. Okay. So now I suck in bed and am this insecure charity lay. Look, you can leave if you want.”
“And miss the garlic bread?” He grabbed the bowl from her hands and laid it on the island. Then, he kissed her knuckles and a glorious flutter shot up her arm.
I have to seriously switch the smile-o-meter off otherwise my cheeks will hurt soon.
“Stop thinking about sex. Let’s just have dinner.”
Dinner. The word was so simple, yet it unleashed a world of possibilities. She nodded, and reached for the Parmesan cheese. Sprinkling it over the greens, she realized dinner was something she hadn’t shared with a non-family male in a long time.
“Are you excited about seeing your family? You said there was a party, right?” he asked.
She opened the built-in oven and removed the garlic bread, then flicked it off. Sitting the warm bread next to the salad, she glanced at Devon. “Not particularly. It’s happening this weekend. Too soon.”
He leaned in, and it gave her a degree of satisfaction to know he seemed entranced by her cooking. Hopefully the sentiment would continue after he tried her food. No pressure. “Do you have a date for your brother’s engagement party?”
She waved him off, then grabbed the salad and the bread, and took them to the table. “Nah.” There was no reason to lie.
He flashed her a smile filled with bad intentions. “I’ll go with you.”
She tilted her head in his direction, as if she hadn’t heard him correctly. The infamous Devon Wilder wanted to be her date? “What? Thanks, but you don’t need to rescue me from them.”
