One Hit Wonderful (16 page)

Putting on her best concerned citizen face, she kicked off her heels, set down the wine and DVD and waded into the fray to get a good grip on Beau’s collar.

“Beau, off!” she commanded, and followed it up with a healthy tug that only served to hurt her shoulders. He didn’t budge.

Lily turned to look at Nate, who was turning a very interesting shade of red under his dog. “This isn’t working.”

Nate drew a shallow breath and wheezed, “On the counter…in the box…”

Lily swung her head around to scan the counter. The box of dog biscuits sat just out of her reach, so she let go of Beau’s collar grab for it. She turned back on Nate’s ripe curse and saw the fresh paw print on his forehead.

“Beau!” She pitched her voice high and light as she shook the box. “D’you want a treat?”

He answered her with a deep woof and bounded off Nate to perch politely at her feet.

“Good boy,” she praised him, and fed him a cookie. He wolfed it down without chewing and looked up so expectantly, she couldn’t resist giving him another.

“Good dog,” she told him again, and scratched behind his ears. He rewarded her with a swipe of his tongue across her hand and trotted out of the kitchen.

Lily set the biscuits on the counter and turned to Nate. He’d managed to sit up and was slouched against the cabinets, his jeans and white shirt bearing the marks of his lost battle. “Are you all right?”

He stared at her balefully. “Oh, don’t even bother with the sweet concern,” he advised, his tone wry. “I heard you laughing.”

“I didn’t laugh loud,” she protested. “And I lured him off you with a biscuit. That ought to count for something.”

He took her proffered hand and hauled himself to his feet. She didn’t back up, so he stood practically on her toes with her hand tucked in his. One eyebrow went up. “You just want me healthy and…un-trampled…for later.”

She breathed him in, the spicy scent of his cologne mixed in with the darker, warmer scent of male, and smiled slowly as her stomach went through its now familiar routine of flips and dips. “True,” she murmured, and tilted her face up to his.

He dropped her hand, both of his going to her shoulders. “Welcome,” he murmured as he lowered his mouth to hers. She sighed into him, flowing like warm wax as the heat from his touch curled through her.

It was slow, and it was sweet. She let herself sink into it, into him until her bones felt liquid and her limbs heavy. The kiss went deeper, mouths widening and tongues tangling until slow and sweet became urgent and dark, and his hands went from her shoulders to her waist. He drew her up on her toes, pulling the curve of her into the hard planes of him and sending her pulse racing.

She blinked her eyes open when he lifted his head. “Whoa,” she managed. “If that’s how you welcome visitors, I’m surprised they aren’t lined up three deep at the front door.”

He chuckled, his dimples winking at her. “I knew you were coming, so I had them all carted off.”

“So thoughtful,” she mocked, and nipped at his lip.

“Hey, I cooked dinner.”

“So I smell.” She drew in a deep, appreciative sniff. “That’s not your average, run-of-the-mill mac and cheese.”

“I fancy it up a bit,” he told her. He stepped away to peek in the oven. “It’ll be ready in about fifteen minutes.”

“Plenty of time for a glass of wine,” she decided, and retrieved the bottle. “Glasses?”

He opened a cupboard and pulled down a pair. “Here, trade me.”

She handed him the bottle, watched him uncork it with a deft hand. She held out the glasses to be filled, handing him his and clinking hers against it in a toast.

“Nice,” he said after his first sip.

“Mmmm,” she agreed, letting the mellow flavor simmer on her tongue before swallowing. Feeling suddenly awkward, she let her gaze wander through the kitchen.

“This place is gorgeous,” she realized, taking in the stainless steel appliances and granite countertops. “It’s even fancier than my kitchen.”

“I used this one as the model for yours,” he admitted. “I had a decorator giving me samples of this and that—different kinds of granite, appliances, flooring. It gave me a headache, so I just picked the same things that I had in here.”

“Who picked all this out?” she asked. “Or was it already here when you bought the house?”

“No, I pretty much had to gut it.” He sipped his wine. “It was a little scary in here when I bought the place, avocado appliances and brown wallpaper.”

“Yikes.”

“No kidding. Picking out appliances and granite once was okay, and I had my sister helping me. She’s a decorator,” he explained. “But a second time…” He shook his head.

“Too much, huh?” she said, amused. “Why didn’t your sister help you this time?”

“She said I was enough trouble for six clients and flat out refused to step in. Instead she foisted me off on some junior decorator in her office who used to run out crying at least once a week.” He frowned. “I didn’t think I was that bad.”

Lily chuckled into her wineglass. “Well, the kitchens look amazing. It’s a bit of a waste, though. We both have gourmet kitchens that we’ll largely use to heat up soup and leftover Chinese food.”

“Which is fine with me.”

“Me too.” She set down her wine and reached for his hand. “Why don’t you give me a tour of the house while dinner finishes up?” she said, thrilling at the little charge she got when his fingers automatically twined with hers.

“Sure,” he said easily. “But I have to warn you, I’m a bachelor.”

“I hope so, otherwise dating you is a big mistake,” she quipped.

“Ha.” He gave her backside a little tap as she walked past him. “Just remember, I warned you.”

* * * * *

Ten minutes later they were strolling back into the kitchen.

“I don’t know what you were worried about,” she told him, and picked up her wine again. “You’re very tidy.”

“I’m tidy today,” he corrected as he walked to the oven. “You should see me when I’m working. I get so wrapped up in the music, everything else just falls by the wayside.”

“Is that the reason you decided to move your music studio out of the house?”

“No, but it’s a handy side benefit.” He slid his hands into oven mitts shaped like fish and pulled a casserole dish from the oven.

“Mmm, that looks great,” Lily said, watching the cheese bubble on the top. “What can I do to help?”

“Not a thing,” he told her with an easy smile. “Why don’t you take the wine into the living room? I’ll be right there.”

“Okay.”

She tucked the bottle under her arm so she could carry both their glasses, and strolled into the living room. It was what she thought of as a typical guy’s living room, with leather couches, a coffee table scuffed and scarred by the feet that often got propped on it, and a big flat-screen television that dominated one wall.

She set the wine and glasses on the coffee table and curled up in a corner of the sofa.

“I love this room,” she told him when he came in bearing a tray.

“I thought you said it was a guy room.” He set the tray down, and she saw he had two plates laden with servings of macaroni and cheese, steamed asparagus and thick slices of French bread slathered in butter.

“It is,” she told him. “I like it anyway. It’s comfortable. And that,” she said, gesturing with her wineglass, “is a hell of a TV.”

“Isn’t it?” He pulled a napkin off the tray, laying it with some ceremony over her lap before handing her a plate.

“I’ve been wanting one myself,” she told him. “I’m trying to justify spending the money.”

“It was more expensive than my first car, but completely worth it.” He sat on the sofa next to her and picked up his fork. “Dig in.”

She did, forking up a mouthful of pasta and cheese. She closed her eyes on a happy moan as the taste hit her tongue. “This is not from Kraft,” she mumbled.

“Hell no,” he said, his own mouth as full as hers. “This is gourmet shit, babe.”

“Tell me,” she agreed, and then she didn’t say anything at all because she was too busy shoveling food into her face.

She devoured it all, pasta and vegetable and bread, and practically licked the plate clean. “God, that was great.”

“You want seconds?” he asked, and topped off her wine. His own plate was as clean as hers. “There’s more in the kitchen.”

“No, that was just perfect,” she sighed, and finally caught sight of the way he was watching her, with something approaching awe. “What?”

“Nothing,” he said, his eyes glittering with good humor. “You don’t quibble much about food, do you? I mean, a lot of women try to eat small portions, be dainty about it. You don’t. I don’t mean that as an insult,” he hurried to say, but she waved him off.

“It’s not taken as one,” she assured him, and lay back against the couch with her wine, relaxed and replete. “I have a healthy appetite. I’m not ashamed of it.”

“It’s nice,” he told her, mirroring her position on the couch and propping his feet on the coffee table. “I get a little tired of dating women who always order salads and pick at them like birds.”

“I’d much rather eat what I want, when I want.” She flashed him a smile as she sipped her wine. “I just run five miles a day and practice yoga so my ass doesn’t show it.”

“It works,” he told her reverently.

“Aww, you noticed.”

“Are you kidding? I have dreams about your ass.”

She laughed and snuggled deeper into the couch. “So what’s next on your agenda this evening? I brought a movie, in case you felt like watching a flick.”

“I saw that,” he said, and shifted close enough to have her breath hitch in her throat. “What is it,
Terms of Endearment
?
The Princess Bride
?”

“
The Bourne Supremacy
,” she informed him soberly, and laughed when he reared back in surprise.

“Action flick?” He eyed her with obvious admiration. “You eat, you drink and you like action movies. Why aren’t you married?”

“I can’t cook, remember?” she said, amused.

“Yeah, but you can order food,” he muttered as he got up. “How about some ice cream with the movie?”

“I’m fine right now,” she replied.

He was back in moments with the DVD in hand. He loaded it into the sleek little player tucked into a bookshelf under the television, and snagged a complicated-looking remote control from another shelf. She watched, amused, as he pressed a series of buttons that had the machines humming to life and the menu popping up on the screen. He fiddled with the settings for color and sharpness, for viewing size, for just about everything until she had to fight the urge to laugh out loud.

Finally satisfied the movie would start as he wanted it to, he tossed the remote onto the coffee table. “Scoot over,” he told her, so she slid toward the middle of the couch to make room for him on the end.

He sat down, put his feet on the coffee table and tugged her close so she lay against his side. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Comfy?”

She laid her head on his chest, the soothing thump of his heart under her ear. “Yeah,” she sighed, and settled in to watch Matt Damon get the bad guys.

* * * * *

“Lily?”

Lily sighed and snuggled deeper into the warmth under her cheek. It was so soft, and felt so good…

“Lily, the movie’s over. Wake up.”

“Hmmm?” She blinked open her eyes to see the credits rolling by on the screen. “I fell asleep?”

“Out like a light before the first bad guy bought it,” he told her, and she tilted her head to look up at him.

“I’m sorry,” she began, but he shook his head.

“S’okay,” he told her, stroking her hair off her face with a feathery touch. “I liked watching you sleep.”

She managed a sleepy grin as she rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. “I guess that means I didn’t snore.”

He shook his head, eyes dark and intense as they roamed her face. “No snoring.”

“Well, at least I didn’t disturb you.” She laid a hand on his chest, intending to push herself out of his arms.

“I wouldn’t say that,” he murmured.

“You wouldn’t?” she asked. Her head was still thick from sleep, her mind struggling to adjust, and her body didn’t seem to want to move away from the warmth of his.

He shook his head. “Do you have any idea how distracting it is to have a beautiful, sexy, sweet-smelling woman lying next to you?”

Perfume works, she thought. Her head might be fuzzy still, but it was clearing fast. “Actually, I’ve never had that particular problem.”

“It’s damn distracting,” he told her solemnly. “I could barely pay attention to Matt Damon’s amnesia-fueled angst.”

“We can watch it again, if you like,” she offered.

He shook his head. “I have another activity in mind.”

“What about dessert?” she whispered, her eyes locked on his as he tangled a hand in her hair.

“We’ll have it later,” he promised, and kissed her.