Faking It

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“And do you see anything you want?”

Desire shone in his eyes. The connection they’d shared in her shop sprang to life, humming between them. “Yes, ma’am. I do.”

She looked away. “In the room, I mean. Do you want to keep any of this?”

“Oh.” He glanced around. “I’ll leave that up to you. We could sell some of this to a thrift shop or give it to charity.”

She glanced thoughtfully at the few furnishings in the room. “I like the desk. It may be salvageable, though we might want to move it to another room. Keep this more open.”

His smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. “Right, that’s a feng shui thing, isn’t it? I knew you wouldn’t be able to help working some of that in.”

“It’s a perfectly acceptable design principle to balance your open and filled spaces.”

He nodded, seemingly satisfied. “Why don’t I give you the grand tour? That way you can get an idea of which are the keepers and where you might want to put everything.”

“Okay.” She rose to follow him, bumping into him as they both turned toward the hall. Her hand collided with his chest. Her heart raced. “Excuse me.”

As she stepped away from him, he gestured for her to precede him. “Let me introduce you to my humble abode.”

Smiling, Jack moved down the wide hall behind Erin, mesmerized by the gentle sway of her hips and the curve of her ass. She was a little thing, almost doll-like with her porcelain skin and wide eyes. If he remembered correctly, that doll his sister Stacey had dragged around for years when she was a child had just the same tint of green in her glass eyes.

He shook his head. Stacey would have liked Erin. Somehow he just knew it.

“It’s not so humble.” Erin turned to him, then made another note or two in her notebook. “Look at all the wide spaces, the detail. I’d give anything for that crown molding.”

She stopped in the archway leading into the kitchen. He nodded as he stood behind her. This was his favorite room in the house. Wide garden windows overlooked a spacious backyard and rimmed an area meant for cooking. Stainless-steel appliances and glass-fronted cabinets added a contemporary feel. An empty breakfast nook sat off to one side.

She turned again to him, her smile lighting her face, and his stomach did a little flip-flop at the excitement in her eyes. She spread her arms wide. “Now this is a kitchen.”

“I’m glad you like it.”

“It’s wonderful. A cook’s dream. My aunt Sophie would camp out in here. We’d never see her. You must love it.” She moved into the room and ran her hand along the island counter separating the breakfast nook from the rest of the kitchen.

“It’s what sold me on this place. Do you cook?” he asked.

“Enough to get by. Evidently not like you, though, if that wonderful smell is any indication. Do you cook often or did I just catch you on a good night?”

“I like puttering around in the kitchen. I can whip up a decent meal.” When his father died and his mother hadn’t been able to cope, Jack had learned to manage the household. Cooking was just part of it. It had been a matter of survival.

“You don’t have to convince me. My mouth’s watering. What is that?”

“Meat loaf. There’s plenty. You’d be more than welcome to join me.”

“Oh…” Pink suffused her cheeks. “I wasn’t fishing for an invitation. I wouldn’t dream of intruding. It just smells so good and I don’t know of many men, at least single men, who cook—not that I’d really know, but—”

“Erin, would you please have dinner with me? If I had been thinking clearly, I would have asked you earlier when we scheduled for tonight. I have some mashed potatoes and a salad, too. It’s not much. The meat loaf won’t be ready for another half hour, but I would love for you to join me.”

“Do you cook like this every night? I mean, a full meal for yourself?”

“Not really every night. I eat the leftovers for a day or two afterward. Sometimes I’ll make a big batch of something, then freeze whatever is left. Once I lived off a batch of chili for three weeks.” And often, still, he took food to his mother’s, but that was going to end.

“You didn’t get tired of it?”

He let his gaze again drift over her. From head to toe, there wasn’t anything about her that he could find fault with. “When I find something I like, I don’t mind sticking with it.”

She looked away and he could have hit himself. There he went again—open mouth, spill guts. Why was it that way with her?