Janice Kay - The Hero's Redemption

“I’m in the kitchen,” Erin added.

He followed the sound of her voice and the fabulous smell of meat cooking, glancing into a living room lit by a single lamp and then a dark dining room. She was right. The place was seriously dated. Was the wiring safe?

The kitchen looked 1940s. Truly ancient linoleum, metal-edged counters, not enough cabinets, a small wooden table with two chairs in the middle of the extensive space.

“The stove isn’t bad, but the refrigerator—” He stopped himself.

Looking over her shoulder as she pulled a cookie sheet covered with golden-brown biscuits from the oven, Erin wrinkled her nose. “Is an antique. I know. I’ve been here something like two months, and I’ve had to defrost the freezer twice. And chip out ice creeping down into the refrigerator compartment.”

“Why haven’t you replaced it?”

She straightened. “I don’t know. It works.” Her shoulders sagged. “It seems wrong just to throw it away.”

He already knew her sentimental side, but discovered it went deeper than he’d realized. “It makes you think of your grandmother.”

“I guess so.” She sighed and turned her back to him as she used a spatula to deftly lift the biscuits off the cookie sheet and into a basket.

He watched her, staggered by how beautiful she was. Usually, he tried not to notice, but now her cheeks were pink from the oven heat; she was clean and her red-gold hair was shiny, bundled at the back of her head with some stretchy thing holding it in place. Above the collar of her T-shirt, her neck showed, long, slender, pale. Were those faint freckles on her nape?

Cole caught himself taking a step to close the distance between them. No.

He rolled his shoulders and backed up. “Anything I can do?”

“Um...” She looked vaguely around. “Get yourself something to drink. I’ll take milk, if you don’t mind pouring.”

His stomach growled, although if he’d had a choice... His hunger for the meal wasn’t the first he would have satisfied. In fact, he managed to keep his back mostly turned to her as he poured milk for them both and set the glasses on the table, then took a seat so she wouldn’t see that he was aroused.

It was the setting, he tried to convince himself. Sexy woman in snug jeans cooking for him. Didn’t explain why he’d been so damn tempted earlier to lift her off the ladder, strip her and lay her down on the grass.

Brambles, he reminded himself. He’d have hurt her delicate, translucent skin.

Crap. He cast a single, desperate glance toward the hall and escape.

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