her the picture of an alien zombie ripping apart a corpse.
“That’s one of my favorites, but it’s a back issue.” Her voice turned defensive. “I like Horror Monthly. Someone like you probably reads nonfiction.”
“Wow. I must be making progress. I was sure you didn’t think I knew howto read,” he said to her back as she walked into the kitchen.
She turned on some classic rock music while she worked and he read. The domesticity of the arrangement comforted Rafe, which surprised him because he’d never considered himself a wife and two point five kids kind of guy. The one time he’d made a play for permanence had backfired in his face. And he hadn’t felt a tenth of the attraction for Lydia that he felt for Storm.
“Okay, Rafe, dinner’s up.”
He joined her at the dining table and inhaled the pleasant aroma of a home-cooked meal. “You really can cook.” He took a bite of food and hummed with pleasure. “You’re close to being the perfect woman.”
She didn’t respond, seemingly engrossed in her meal. She’d cooked a tender porterhouse, complete with baked potato and salad. Rafe didn’t think he’d ever eaten anything tastier.
Minutes later, Storm laid down her fork. “Okay, I’ll bite. I’m close to perfect, but…?”
“If you could just learn to keep your mouth shut, I’m sure you’d have guys all over you. Of course, that didn’t seem to bother Hank.” He’d told himself to forget about her meaningless date, but he couldn’t put a lid on his jealousy.
Storm scowled. “Mouth shut? Jerk. And just what have you got against Hank?”
“Other than the fact the guy let you take the hit from that car, and that Hank is a name you give to your dog, not a thing.” He felt his cheeks turn red when she just stared at him. “Look, this is a terrific meal. Let’s not spoil it with a fight.”
Her lips twitched, and he had the uneasy feeling she was laughing at him. “Fine.”
They finished the meal with banal conversation. The weather, Southern living, her car versus his. Nothing about work or family. Not that he’d tried hard for the information. She really had outdone herself with dinner.
“Storm, I have to say, I didn’t think you had it in you.”
She bristled. “I can cook.”
“You sure the hell can.” He patted his stuffed belly. “You cooked, I clean up.”
“Now that I can agree to.” She stood and walked to the couch, where she sat back and put her hands behind her head. “Someone to clean my mess.”
“Someone needs to,” he muttered. He collected their plates, washed the dishes, and had just finished drying the last plate when his cell phone rang.
J.D. didn’t have much to share, though he laughed his ass off when he heard where Rafe had eaten dinner.
Rafe joined Storm in the living room. “That was J.D. Seems your black sedan was stolen three nights ago. There’s a valid police report to back that up. We’re at a dead end on this one.”
Storm shrugged, and from his position behind the couch, he had a perfect view down her shirt. “For what it’s worth, I appreciate the effort.”
Rafe licked his lips, suddenly hungry for dessert. “Just how far does that appreciation extend”
“What do you mean?” she asked in a breathless voice and turned to face him.
It took all his concentration to refrain from joining her on that couch, stripping her, then surging inside her with one smooth, hard thrust.
He forced a smile, determined to be smart about involving himself with a Buchanan. He refused to be ruled by his dick. Once in a lifetime was enough. “How about dessert?”
“Dessert?”
He took a step closer. What if distance wasn’t the answer? Maybe if he slept with her, he’d purge her from his system. That, or make him more addicted to the aggravating woman.
Storm scrambled to her feet faster than he thought she’d be able. “You know, dessert’s a good idea. I’ll be right back with it.”
She winced, and he felt bad about prodding
“That’s one of my favorites, but it’s a back issue.” Her voice turned defensive. “I like Horror Monthly. Someone like you probably reads nonfiction.”
“Wow. I must be making progress. I was sure you didn’t think I knew howto read,” he said to her back as she walked into the kitchen.
She turned on some classic rock music while she worked and he read. The domesticity of the arrangement comforted Rafe, which surprised him because he’d never considered himself a wife and two point five kids kind of guy. The one time he’d made a play for permanence had backfired in his face. And he hadn’t felt a tenth of the attraction for Lydia that he felt for Storm.
“Okay, Rafe, dinner’s up.”
He joined her at the dining table and inhaled the pleasant aroma of a home-cooked meal. “You really can cook.” He took a bite of food and hummed with pleasure. “You’re close to being the perfect woman.”
She didn’t respond, seemingly engrossed in her meal. She’d cooked a tender porterhouse, complete with baked potato and salad. Rafe didn’t think he’d ever eaten anything tastier.
Minutes later, Storm laid down her fork. “Okay, I’ll bite. I’m close to perfect, but…?”
“If you could just learn to keep your mouth shut, I’m sure you’d have guys all over you. Of course, that didn’t seem to bother Hank.” He’d told himself to forget about her meaningless date, but he couldn’t put a lid on his jealousy.
Storm scowled. “Mouth shut? Jerk. And just what have you got against Hank?”
“Other than the fact the guy let you take the hit from that car, and that Hank is a name you give to your dog, not a thing.” He felt his cheeks turn red when she just stared at him. “Look, this is a terrific meal. Let’s not spoil it with a fight.”
Her lips twitched, and he had the uneasy feeling she was laughing at him. “Fine.”
They finished the meal with banal conversation. The weather, Southern living, her car versus his. Nothing about work or family. Not that he’d tried hard for the information. She really had outdone herself with dinner.
“Storm, I have to say, I didn’t think you had it in you.”
She bristled. “I can cook.”
“You sure the hell can.” He patted his stuffed belly. “You cooked, I clean up.”
“Now that I can agree to.” She stood and walked to the couch, where she sat back and put her hands behind her head. “Someone to clean my mess.”
“Someone needs to,” he muttered. He collected their plates, washed the dishes, and had just finished drying the last plate when his cell phone rang.
J.D. didn’t have much to share, though he laughed his ass off when he heard where Rafe had eaten dinner.
Rafe joined Storm in the living room. “That was J.D. Seems your black sedan was stolen three nights ago. There’s a valid police report to back that up. We’re at a dead end on this one.”
Storm shrugged, and from his position behind the couch, he had a perfect view down her shirt. “For what it’s worth, I appreciate the effort.”
Rafe licked his lips, suddenly hungry for dessert. “Just how far does that appreciation extend”
“What do you mean?” she asked in a breathless voice and turned to face him.
It took all his concentration to refrain from joining her on that couch, stripping her, then surging inside her with one smooth, hard thrust.
He forced a smile, determined to be smart about involving himself with a Buchanan. He refused to be ruled by his dick. Once in a lifetime was enough. “How about dessert?”
“Dessert?”
He took a step closer. What if distance wasn’t the answer? Maybe if he slept with her, he’d purge her from his system. That, or make him more addicted to the aggravating woman.
Storm scrambled to her feet faster than he thought she’d be able. “You know, dessert’s a good idea. I’ll be right back with it.”
She winced, and he felt bad about prodding
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