Read Online Homecoming by Rochelle Alers - Free Book Online Page B

could add a third adjective—sexy.
    Closing the door, Tyler reached for Dana’s uninjured hand, cradling it gently, leading her past empty spaces that would become a formal living and dining room, to an oversized kitchen with an adjoining breakfast room, at the far end of the house. The ceiling in the kitchen and breakfast room, reaching one and a half stories, was constructed with skylights that brought the outside in; the eerie glow of an emerging half-moonlit up the space like a spotlight. He turned a dimmer switch, creating a festival of light from recessed fixtures under cabinets and strategically placed wall scones that resembled gaslights from another century. The eclectic mix of modern, Victorian Revival, Art Deco, and a new American style was not only attention-grabbing, but also visually satisfying.
    “Your home is beautiful, Tyler.” Dana took a deep breath. Everything smelled new.
    “Thank you. It’s only partially furnished. I’m still awaiting the arrival of furniture for more than half the rooms.”
    “How long have you lived here?”
    “Two weeks.”
    She smiled up at him. “This section of Hillsboro was vacant land when I lived here.”
    Tyler regarded her intently. “The builder broke ground and laid the foundation last October. I would come by every other day to watch the progress, and it wasn’t until February that it began to resemble the architect’s rendering.” His home was a classic depiction of a few of the old mansions in the region.
    “Come sit,” he said, leading her to the breakfast room and seating her on a chair with a pale woven fabric that was a stark contrast to a decorative wrought-iron frame reminiscent of the grillwork seen in the French Quarter in New Orleans.
    He hunkered down, his head level with hers. “Do you have an allergy to shellfish?”
    Dana resisted the urge to trace the outline of his expressive eyebrows. They were arched over his eyes like the drawings she’d done as a child of a bird’s outstretched wings. She noted that the slight stubble on Tyler’s chin and jaw made his face appear not only darker, but also rakish. He’d called himself the Black Knight, and that he was.
    “No.” The single word floated from her lips as a whisper.
    He smiled, the minute lines deepening around his penetrating eyes. “If that’s the case, then I’ll prepare a dish of farfalle with arugula pesto and shrimp. The pieces will be small enough for you to pick up with a fork even if you have to use your right hand.” Straightening, he winked down at her. “I’ll be right back after I wash my hands.”
    “May I watch you cook?”
    “Of course.” He pulled back her chair, and she stood up. He gave her a sidelong glance. “Can you cook?”
    Wrinkling her pert nose, she said, “A little.”
    Dana had told him a half-truth. She could cook and very, very well. The great-aunt who had raised her had worked as a cook at an elegant country inn that also doubled as a bed-and-breakfast. Once her aunt felt Dana was old enough to work at a stove, she would take her with her on weekends. Aunt Fanny taught her to make bread and sweetbreads from scratch, before she graduated to decorating cakes and roasting prime cuts of meats to a succulent tenderness.
    Dana excelled in the preparation of sauces and gravies, changing the taste and consistency of traditional ones whenever she experimented with different herbs and spices. Her specialty had become presentation. If it wasn’t eye-appealing, then she did not serve it.
    Yes, I cook very well, she longed to tell Tyler. And if she’d had the opportunity to prepare a meal for him in the ultramodern stainless steel and ebony kitchen, she probably would shock him with her culinary expertise.
    She was certain one reason Galvin had dated her for two years was because he couldn’t get enough of her cooking. There were occasions when she’d demandedhe take her out to a restaurant or she would stop seeing him. But he’d turned the tables on