cookies.
“Tina?” Eric’s voice was soft on the surface, but held an inner thread steely with purpose.
“All right,” she snapped, whirling to face him. “Glen was often less than pleasant.”
“As in—” he arched that one tawny brow “—very recently, when he was here?”
The short hairs at Tina’s nape quivered at the iciness underlying his too-soft voice. She wasn’t deceived for an instant by his bland expression, either. Without knowing how she knew, Tina was certain that Eric Wolfe could prove to be very dangerous when he was riled.
“It’s unimportant, really,” she said, prudently deciding to do her best not to rile him. “He doesn’t stop by often, only when he comes to visit his friends.”
“They’re not your friends, too?”
“Not really.” Tina didn’t try to hide the impatience she was feeling; the subject, and his persistence, was starting to get to her. “They were Glen’s friends before we were married, not mine. Although we still exchange pleasantries when we see one another, I don’t socialize with them.” She managed a tight smile. “Any other questions?”
Eric’s return smile was easy, teasing. “Yeah. Where’s my coffee?”
“Coming up,” she said, the tightness smoothing from her lips. She flicked a hand at the table as she walked back to the coffeemaker. “Have a seat.”
“You baking a pie?” he asked, inclining his head to indicate the pan and ingredients cluttering the countertop.
“Yes.” Reaching into a cabinet, Tina withdrew two gold-rimmed cups and matching saucers.
“What kind?” Eric asked in an eager, hopeful voice.
“Lemon meringue.” Tina tossed a grin at him over her shoulder. “And I’ve got to finish putting it together,” she went on, filling the cups and carrying them to the table. “So, as soon as you’ve had your coffee, I’m throwing you out.”
“Can’t I help?”
Tina laughed at the coaxing sound in his voice; it was so patently false.
“I’m serious,” Eric insisted. “I’m a bachelor, and I know my way around a kitchen. Let me help.”
“Doing what?” she asked skeptically.
“I can whip the egg whites while you prepare the filling,” he answered immediately.
Tina gave him a considering look. “Well, maybe you do know your way around the kitchen. Okay,” she agreed. “But I’m warning you right now, you mess up my meringue and you are in big trouble, mister.”
“Deal.” Eric grinned at her and reached for a cookie. “Am I going to get to taste this culinary delight later?” he asked, dunking the cookie in his coffee before popping it in his mouth.
“Well, of course,” Tina said, sliding onto the chair opposite him. “That’s what this exercise is all about.”
Eric blinked and paused in the process of submerging another cookie. “What’s what this exercise is all about?”
“You tasting the pie,” she replied in exasperation. “How will I know if my lemon meringue is as good as your mother’s unless you taste it?”
He burst out laughing. “What have you got going here, some sort of personal bake-off?”
“You might call it that.”
“I already did.” Eric chuckled.
“I felt challenged when you declared that your mother’s was the best,” she said airily, lifting her cup to take a tentative sip of the hot liquid. “Even though I suppose it won’t be a true test of my skill if you help.”
“Hmm...” he murmured, munching away on yet another soggy cookie. “I see your point.” He washed down the sweet with the last of his coffee, then held out the cup. “Tell you what, give me a refill and then I’ll get out of here, let you get on with your thing.”
“Deal,” Tina said, echoing his earlier remark. Taking the cup, she rose and turned to go to the counter.
“On one condition.”
Tina came to an abrupt halt and spun to eye him suspiciously. “What condition?”
Eric’s smile was innocent to the point of angelic. “You let me come back later to taste
“Tina?” Eric’s voice was soft on the surface, but held an inner thread steely with purpose.
“All right,” she snapped, whirling to face him. “Glen was often less than pleasant.”
“As in—” he arched that one tawny brow “—very recently, when he was here?”
The short hairs at Tina’s nape quivered at the iciness underlying his too-soft voice. She wasn’t deceived for an instant by his bland expression, either. Without knowing how she knew, Tina was certain that Eric Wolfe could prove to be very dangerous when he was riled.
“It’s unimportant, really,” she said, prudently deciding to do her best not to rile him. “He doesn’t stop by often, only when he comes to visit his friends.”
“They’re not your friends, too?”
“Not really.” Tina didn’t try to hide the impatience she was feeling; the subject, and his persistence, was starting to get to her. “They were Glen’s friends before we were married, not mine. Although we still exchange pleasantries when we see one another, I don’t socialize with them.” She managed a tight smile. “Any other questions?”
Eric’s return smile was easy, teasing. “Yeah. Where’s my coffee?”
“Coming up,” she said, the tightness smoothing from her lips. She flicked a hand at the table as she walked back to the coffeemaker. “Have a seat.”
“You baking a pie?” he asked, inclining his head to indicate the pan and ingredients cluttering the countertop.
“Yes.” Reaching into a cabinet, Tina withdrew two gold-rimmed cups and matching saucers.
“What kind?” Eric asked in an eager, hopeful voice.
“Lemon meringue.” Tina tossed a grin at him over her shoulder. “And I’ve got to finish putting it together,” she went on, filling the cups and carrying them to the table. “So, as soon as you’ve had your coffee, I’m throwing you out.”
“Can’t I help?”
Tina laughed at the coaxing sound in his voice; it was so patently false.
“I’m serious,” Eric insisted. “I’m a bachelor, and I know my way around a kitchen. Let me help.”
“Doing what?” she asked skeptically.
“I can whip the egg whites while you prepare the filling,” he answered immediately.
Tina gave him a considering look. “Well, maybe you do know your way around the kitchen. Okay,” she agreed. “But I’m warning you right now, you mess up my meringue and you are in big trouble, mister.”
“Deal.” Eric grinned at her and reached for a cookie. “Am I going to get to taste this culinary delight later?” he asked, dunking the cookie in his coffee before popping it in his mouth.
“Well, of course,” Tina said, sliding onto the chair opposite him. “That’s what this exercise is all about.”
Eric blinked and paused in the process of submerging another cookie. “What’s what this exercise is all about?”
“You tasting the pie,” she replied in exasperation. “How will I know if my lemon meringue is as good as your mother’s unless you taste it?”
He burst out laughing. “What have you got going here, some sort of personal bake-off?”
“You might call it that.”
“I already did.” Eric chuckled.
“I felt challenged when you declared that your mother’s was the best,” she said airily, lifting her cup to take a tentative sip of the hot liquid. “Even though I suppose it won’t be a true test of my skill if you help.”
“Hmm...” he murmured, munching away on yet another soggy cookie. “I see your point.” He washed down the sweet with the last of his coffee, then held out the cup. “Tell you what, give me a refill and then I’ll get out of here, let you get on with your thing.”
“Deal,” Tina said, echoing his earlier remark. Taking the cup, she rose and turned to go to the counter.
“On one condition.”
Tina came to an abrupt halt and spun to eye him suspiciously. “What condition?”
Eric’s smile was innocent to the point of angelic. “You let me come back later to taste
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