Alison Kelly - Man About The House

Deciding they both needed space Brett lowered his arm and stepped back. Producing what he hoped was a reassuring smile, he excused himself and headed to the bathroom.

Brett heard her enter the kitchen scant seconds before a soft, awed voice officially announced her. ‘You really can cook.’

‘You seem surprised.’ He spared her a quick glance. ‘Can’t you?’

‘Can’t I what?’

‘Cook.’

Her laugh was incredulous. ‘Of course I can. I’ve just never met a man who could.’

‘Then you must’ve met a lot of useless, skinny, hungry men.’ His teasing comment limped into an awkward silence.

The way she was fidgeting with the carton of eggs lying on the benchtop hinted at her still being uncomfortable in his presence, for which Brett was grateful. It meant she’d be too distracted to notice any semblance of unease he might display, because there was no denying this girl seriously raised the level of his awareness meter. In the half-hour or so since their earlier encounter, she’d donned make-up and a trendy trouser suit and it irritated him. To his way of thinking, the sexy fashion-plate image constituted false advertising by promising things that were way out of this kid’s league and strictly off limits to him. Sans make-up, dressed in the blue jeans and sweatshirt of earlier, she’d been less of a threat to his good intentions by at least looking as innocent and unworldly as she so obviously was. Now she looked as if she not only knew the score but wanted the role of captain-coach in the game.

He tried hard to concentrate on what he was doing, but was so aware of her watching his every move her gaze was almost like a physical touch.

‘Um, would you like me to set the table?’ she offered, after several minutes of razor-sharp silence which Brett figured had to have made her as uncomfortable as him.

‘Sure. Thanks.’

Instantly she started into action, moving with the familiarity of having lived in the house for two months.

The kitchen was by no means small, but somehow Joanna’s aura managed to fill every atom of space. Brett had never been so aware of another person’s presence in his entire life. On two occasions they got in each other’s way, and brushing against her felt like being zapped by a current of electricity. But her movements between the cupboards and the table, the sink and the fridge were a distraction even when she wasn’t in his line of vision or within touching distance. Bit by bit the musky scent of her perfume won dominance over the aroma of the cooking breakfast. and his heartbeat drowned out the sizzle of the bacon.

The relief when he could finally sit down and have the width of the breakfast table between them was enormous. Well, it was until the silence again became a stilted roar. They might have both been going through the motions of eating with the automation of two robots oblivious to the other’s presence, but Brett figured between them they’d exercised more covert glances than a CIA agent did in a career. This was getting ridiculous! He was thirty-four, for God’s sake, not fifteen!

‘So,’ he said, quickly lowering his unintentionally loud voice when she physically started, ‘are you feeling any better now you’ve eaten?’

Nodding, she quickly swallowed. ‘A bit.’ A tiny smile tugged at her mouth. ‘You were right; you are a good cook.’

1 did warn you.’

His teasing didn’t draw more than another small smile, but its briefness didn’t dull its impact. Brett scrambled to keep the conversation going. ‘You like Thai food?’

‘I don’t know. I’ve never had it. I had Italian once.’

‘Once?’

‘My family didn’t eat fancy stuff.’

‘Well, then, I guess I’ll have to introduce you to a wider culinary range while you’re here.’

‘Oh, no! Really. I wouldn’t feel right letting you fix meals for me.’

‘Why not? You have to eat, and it’s no fun just cooking for myself.’

For several seconds she seemed nonplussed by his logic, then produced another of those killer smiles. ‘All right, but only if we take turns. You cook one meal, I’ll cook the next’

‘Fair enough.’

Their gazes met and held, and Brett had a difficult time convincing his libido that he really wasn’t interested in any woman right now—much less the young girl across the table. Even if she was the most incredibly beautiful female he’d ever seen. Yet the hypnotic effect of those turquoise eyes made it impossible for him to look away, and they suffused his body with an inner warmth that was as tranquil as it was disturbing.

It wasn’t until she lowered her lashes and rose from her chair that Brett was capable of blinking and breathing again.

‘Would you like tea or coffee?’ she asked.

Caught up in trying to unravel his bemused thoughts, he had to rerun her words twice before they made sense. ‘Whatever you’re having is fine.’

‘I only drink tea,’ she told him. ‘But I don’t mind making you coffee if that’s what you want.’ The curve of her mouth was almost as bewitching as those of the body she leaned gracefully against the counter, and the item which sprang to the top of his immediate ‘want list’ wasn’t anything as innocuous as either beverage. He managed to bite back the admission. ‘Thanks, but tea’s okay with me.’

‘How do you have it?’

Brett found himself actually having to think before making what should have been an automatic response. ‘White. No sugar.’

‘Darjeeling, Earl Grey or Irish Breakfast?’

It was then his trouble alarm started clanging!

The truth was he had no damn interest in what sort of tea he drank and way too much in the woman making it; all of it sexual.

The problem was he wasn’t supposed to be in the market for sex. Even more disturbing than discovering he was, was finding himself window shopping in an area outside his habitual interest zone.

Which, of course, was Meaghan’s fault! he thought testily. She was the one who’d placed him in Joanna Ford’s proximity. It was bad enough she’d exposed him to the ethereal raven-haired witch currently holding up boxes of tea like a quiz show hostess, but if his sister hadn’t erected neon ‘keep off the grass’ signs around Joanna, he probably wouldn’t have given the girl a second glance. After all, as attractive and sexy as she was, it didn’t alter the fact she was only eight years older than his niece and twelve years younger than him.

What was more, he decided, she was only proving a distraction because he was allowing her to be one. Determined to correct that situation right now, he responded to her repeated query about the tea with an uninterested, ‘Surprise me,’ then stoically refocused his attention on finishing his breakfast. His only reaction to the steaming mug which moments later was placed near his right hand was a headbent murmur of, ‘Thanks.’

Ruing the absence of a newspaper to bury his head in, Brett continued to eat and to drink his tea without once letting his gaze shift beyond the centre of the table. With the passing of each loud, silence-breaking tick of the wall clock he congratulated himself on having triumphed over the temptation to look at his breakfast companion. See? It wasn’t hard. He could be as indifferent to Joanna Ford and her seemingly mystical intrigue as he could the salt and pepper shaker her long, elegant fingers were idly tracing with slow, sensuous strokes.

‘Brett...’

The husky utterance of his name was his undoing, immediately snapping his gaze up to hers.

‘I wasn’t lying when I said I didn’t drink last night,’ she told him. ‘But I think you’re right about me having a hangover.’

A curt nod would have communicated his lack of interest in further discussion on the subject, but instead Brett heard himself say, ‘A contradictory comment, but I take it as meaning you think it’s possible you were slipped a mickey.’