worries.”
“She’s a good friend.”
“Yeah. She is. I’ve known her for years. Since college.”
“Hmm.” He slathered sauce on the steaks. “And did you play the cello in college?”
“I played the cello in kindergarten .”
His eyes widened. “Seriously?”
“I was a child prodigy. And my parents were…ambitious.”
“I guess.”
“My brother and sister and I were enrolled in a litany of classes from dawn ’til dusk. For Merrilee, it was ballet and cooking. Mark had to suffer through all kinds of art and math.”
“In kindergarten?”
“Did I mention ambitious?”
“What do they do now?”
She wrapped her arms around her waist and turned toward the sea. “Merrilee is a chef. Mark…well, he died.”
He cupped her shoulders and eased her around, into his arms. “I’m so sorry, Cassie.”
She shrugged. Dipped her chin. “He was…sick. Died pretty young.” Dylan thumbed away a tear. “I b-barely knew h-him.”
“There’s nothing worse,” he said into her hair. “Nothing. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”
“No. I’m glad you did.” She stepped back and covered his hand with hers. “It’s nice to remember him. He was a funny little guy.”
“How young was he when he when…when it happened?”
“Seven.”
His face went ashen. “Shit.”
“Yeah. Mom and Dad were devastated.”
“I can imagine.” He pressed his lips together. A muscle worked in his cheek. He turned back to the grill and stabbed a steak with a fork.
“Our parents focused on us then, Merrilee and me.” She forced a laugh. “I suppose one day we’ll need therapy.”
“At least they had you,” he rasped.
She nodded. “I suppose. But a parent never recovers from losing a child.”
“No. They don’t. Well,” he gusted. “The steaks are done. I baked some potatoes. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Mind?”
His smile was a little mischievous, though a little tight. “They are vegetables, after all. I know you were hoping for a veggie-free meal. And they’re hardly low carb.”
She picked up the plate of steaks and headed back to the house. “Oh,” she threw over her shoulder. “I’ll take a bullet on this one. You know, just ‘cause you went to all the trouble to make them and all.”
“Wow. Such a trouper.”
“I do what I can,” she said.
His laugh enveloped her like a warm cloud.
Dylan sat back and groaned. “Damn, that was good.”
Cassie licked her fork. He tracked the passage of her tongue. “It was. You are an amazing grill meister.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
She stood and collected the plates. “Since you cooked, I’ll clean up.”
He frowned. He didn’t want her cleaning up. He wanted her…elsewhere. “You don’t have to.”
“I do. It’s the rules.” Her minxish glance sent a sizzle up his spine. “And then, after…”
“Yes?”
“What do you say to a little…dessert?”
He cringed. “I didn’t make any.”
“Oh…” Her expression was scorching. “I thought this time, I’d do all the work.”
When her meaning sank into his addled brain, blistering lust snarled through him. Holy hell. Did she mean what he thought she meant? Oh yeah. Oh yeah. She did.
He swallowed the drool suddenly pooling in his mouth. “Leave it,” he growled as she started filling the dishwasher. But she didn’t. She didn’t stop until everything was loaded and tidied and she had thoroughly wiped down the countertops. And all the while, she kept sending him speaking looks. It took no time at all, but far too long.
He sat at the table and watched her, because each time he started to stand, to come and help her, to move things along, she stopped what she was doing and glared at him and said, “Sit down.”
By the time she was finished, he was a bundle of nerves and anticipation.
When she finally came back to the table, wiping her hands on a towel, and dropped a kiss on his lips, he nearly shot out of his seat. “Let’s sit on the sofa.”
She
“She’s a good friend.”
“Yeah. She is. I’ve known her for years. Since college.”
“Hmm.” He slathered sauce on the steaks. “And did you play the cello in college?”
“I played the cello in kindergarten .”
His eyes widened. “Seriously?”
“I was a child prodigy. And my parents were…ambitious.”
“I guess.”
“My brother and sister and I were enrolled in a litany of classes from dawn ’til dusk. For Merrilee, it was ballet and cooking. Mark had to suffer through all kinds of art and math.”
“In kindergarten?”
“Did I mention ambitious?”
“What do they do now?”
She wrapped her arms around her waist and turned toward the sea. “Merrilee is a chef. Mark…well, he died.”
He cupped her shoulders and eased her around, into his arms. “I’m so sorry, Cassie.”
She shrugged. Dipped her chin. “He was…sick. Died pretty young.” Dylan thumbed away a tear. “I b-barely knew h-him.”
“There’s nothing worse,” he said into her hair. “Nothing. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”
“No. I’m glad you did.” She stepped back and covered his hand with hers. “It’s nice to remember him. He was a funny little guy.”
“How young was he when he when…when it happened?”
“Seven.”
His face went ashen. “Shit.”
“Yeah. Mom and Dad were devastated.”
“I can imagine.” He pressed his lips together. A muscle worked in his cheek. He turned back to the grill and stabbed a steak with a fork.
“Our parents focused on us then, Merrilee and me.” She forced a laugh. “I suppose one day we’ll need therapy.”
“At least they had you,” he rasped.
She nodded. “I suppose. But a parent never recovers from losing a child.”
“No. They don’t. Well,” he gusted. “The steaks are done. I baked some potatoes. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Mind?”
His smile was a little mischievous, though a little tight. “They are vegetables, after all. I know you were hoping for a veggie-free meal. And they’re hardly low carb.”
She picked up the plate of steaks and headed back to the house. “Oh,” she threw over her shoulder. “I’ll take a bullet on this one. You know, just ‘cause you went to all the trouble to make them and all.”
“Wow. Such a trouper.”
“I do what I can,” she said.
His laugh enveloped her like a warm cloud.
Dylan sat back and groaned. “Damn, that was good.”
Cassie licked her fork. He tracked the passage of her tongue. “It was. You are an amazing grill meister.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
She stood and collected the plates. “Since you cooked, I’ll clean up.”
He frowned. He didn’t want her cleaning up. He wanted her…elsewhere. “You don’t have to.”
“I do. It’s the rules.” Her minxish glance sent a sizzle up his spine. “And then, after…”
“Yes?”
“What do you say to a little…dessert?”
He cringed. “I didn’t make any.”
“Oh…” Her expression was scorching. “I thought this time, I’d do all the work.”
When her meaning sank into his addled brain, blistering lust snarled through him. Holy hell. Did she mean what he thought she meant? Oh yeah. Oh yeah. She did.
He swallowed the drool suddenly pooling in his mouth. “Leave it,” he growled as she started filling the dishwasher. But she didn’t. She didn’t stop until everything was loaded and tidied and she had thoroughly wiped down the countertops. And all the while, she kept sending him speaking looks. It took no time at all, but far too long.
He sat at the table and watched her, because each time he started to stand, to come and help her, to move things along, she stopped what she was doing and glared at him and said, “Sit down.”
By the time she was finished, he was a bundle of nerves and anticipation.
When she finally came back to the table, wiping her hands on a towel, and dropped a kiss on his lips, he nearly shot out of his seat. “Let’s sit on the sofa.”
She
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