Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 87513 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87513 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Troy arrived, wearing black jeans that hugged his magnificent tush and a tight long-sleeved T-shirt that showed off his pecs and washboard abs.
The man immediately blew all the air right out of her lungs. Michaela would have swooned if she’d been the swooning type.
He stepped inside, and when she thought he might kiss her, he merely bussed her on the cheek, even though she’d been hoping for more. He’d brought a bouquet of gorgeous red roses and a bottle of Cakebread chardonnay.
After she’d thanked him, he took in her simple townhome. She was almost embarrassed, considering how he must live.
The tiled foyer opened directly onto the living room. When they’d moved in, Michaela had purchased a sofa with a lounger on one end, which was her favorite spot. The two chairs flanking the other end of the sofa were mostly used only when they had guests. A built-in cabinet on the opposite wall held the TV, stereo system, and a few knickknacks.
Troy scanned the décor with a nod. “Very nice. And tastefully decorated.” Then, as she led him into the kitchen, he asked, “Your mom’s already gone up to the city?”
She grimaced. “That’s a story. I’ll tell you over dinner. It’s almost ready.” She’d laid two placemats and utensils on the table. “I hope you don’t mind eating in the kitchen nook. We don’t have a formal living room or dining room. It seemed like a waste of space for the two of us.” She felt as if she had to explain away what she’d always thought was perfect for her mom and her.
“I don’t mind at all,” he said, taking in the sunshine-yellow kitchen with its updated appliances and countertops. Since the cabinets had been in good condition, she’d kept them.
The timer dinged. “I’ll let the enchiladas rest for a couple of minutes.” When she removed the aluminum foil from the dish, the bubbling, lightly browned cheese was perfection.
“Anything I can do to help?”
He was so close and smelled so good, some all-male aftershave, that he made her a little jittery, and she decided to put him to work. “I’ll put the flowers in a vase if you’ll get the garlic bread out of the oven and put it in the basket. That would be great.”
As she fussed with the flowers, her thoughts immediately went to the meal—OMG, garlic bread. Stupid, stupid! She’d have to worry about garlic breath all night long.
But with two potholders and the tray in his hand, Troy bent to sniff the scented bread. “Delicious. I love homemade garlic bread.”
She shrugged. “I didn’t bake it, but I made the topping. And I added a bit of taco seasoning.”
He laughed. “You turned it into garlic ambrosia.” Then he pilfered a small end piece and tossed it in his mouth, making yummy noises as he chewed, his eyes on her.
Her breath wanted to explode out of her lungs all over again. Those sounds. That look. She couldn’t resist leaning close, swiping the other crust off the tray and popping it into her mouth.
Now they would both be garlicky. Maybe that’s what Troy had intended all along.
And maybe that meant he intended to kiss her at some point.
She wouldn’t be able to breathe properly until he did.
“Everything is perfection,” Troy said. Especially her. “I love enchiladas.”
She smiled and turned him inside out. “Thank you.”
He raised his glass. “To a brilliant matchmaker and a fabulous cook.”
Michaela laughed, the sound as delicious as the food. “It’s just enchiladas,” she drawled.
There was nothing just about it—not about her beauty, her exquisite body, her brilliant mind, or her scrumptious food. She could never be just anything. She’d prepared enchiladas with a green salad and the garlic bread, serving it with the Cakebread chardonnay, even though they probably should have been drinking red. But he’d wanted to bring her favorite.
The vase of flowers was too big for the center of the table—he wouldn’t have been able to see her over them—so she’d set it to one side, the roses scenting the air. But even more seductive was the scent of her, something sweet, laced with pheromones.
“Tell me what’s got you in a tizzy about Flo.” He hadn’t forgotten that remark she’d made when he arrived.
His question brought another grimace to her kissable mouth. Then she leaned in to whisper, as if someone might overhear them, “She’s on a date.”
He wanted to laugh. Michaela sounded like it was the worst thing ever. “That’s nice.”
“An overnight date.” Each word succinct, with a hard T at the end.
Even better. Flo would be out all night. How could he be so lucky? “And that’s a bad thing?”
She shook her head, her gorgeous wavy hair cascading over her shoulders. “Not necessarily. She’s out to dinner and a show with Walter Braedon.” This time, she stressed Walter’s name as if that were a horrible thing. “And he’s a billionaire.”