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Last year at The Banana Tree Restaurant, he’d led a giggling conga line of Malloy Marketing employees from their private room into the cramped main dining area. When the piped-in Brazilian music had abruptly ceased, the line had staggered to a stop and swayed into adjacent tables. Only Rachel’s quick thinking prevented disaster, her impromptu rendition of “Havah Nagilah” spurring the dancers safely back to their tables.
Elizabeth met Cameron’s amused gaze and knew he’d remembered the same scene. “You wouldn’t have to lift a finger. A caterer could do all the work. You could OD on all the prime rib, boiled shrimp on ice and stuffed mushroom caps you could hold. We’d save enough money on the party room rental fee alone to go first-class on the catering.”
“We would, huh?”
“I mean, the agency would.”
His eyes warmed to burnished gold.
A forewarning she ignored in favor of watching straight white teeth flash in a lean bronzed face, transforming mere handsomeness into blazing glamour.
Dazzled and despairing, she wrenched her gaze away before she saw sunspots.
“Well—” slapping his thighs, he recaptured her attention “—I know you’re starving, and I hate to keep a woman hungry. Whaddaya say let’s get those steaks out of the fridge and onto the grill?”
He stood and waited for her to reach his side before walking with her toward the kitchen. And damn her pathetic hide, she could not stop the thrill of hope his simple courtesy produced.
She stole a peek up at his tall form. “So what has Kara picked out for your next purchase?”
“Huh?”
“To fill all this empty floor space. Isn’t she helping you decorate?”
“Kara spotted the staircase, yeah. But I planned the space build-out and chose everything that’s in here.” He stroked the island countertop as they passed. “This is one solid piece of granite. Took me days to locate enough from the same quarry to cover it and the kitchen counters.” He approached the sleek black refrigerator possessively. “Got this baby at an auction on the Internet. Thirty-six-inch side-by-side model, through-the-door water and ice dispenser. One year parts and labor warranty.”
Wrenching open the right door, he crouched down, waved her closer and pointed out features. “Adjustable spill-saver glass shelves. Over twenty-five cubic feet of storage space. Good air circulation so mold doesn’t set in. Look—” he pulled open a bin filled with vegetables “—this stuff is over a week old, but it’s still crisp.”
Leaning over his dark blond head, she caught a scrumptious whiff of sandalwood cologne. “Very nice. Obviously you don’t need Kara’s help on the home front. Sorry if I offended you.”
He closed the bin, reached for a plate wrapped in aluminum foil on the lowest shelf. “No problem.”
“I guess I didn’t realize you were such a…nester.”
Hand on the plate, he paused. “A what?” Suspicion laced his voice.
“Maybe a better word is domestic.”
“Domestic? What the hell does that mean, domestic?”
She bit back a smile. “I believe the Webster’s definition that most closely applies is—devoted to home duties and pleasures. That’s a compliment, by the way. So few men are…confident enough to express that side of themselves.”
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