A Husband In Her Stocking. Christine Pacheco

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      Two

      The challenge hung in the air between them, as powerful as the pounding of his heart. He noticed her breaths were hollow, and he saw the confusion that raced across her features.

      For a second, her lashes drifted together, shutting out the honesty her eyes contained. Would she grant him the gift of her name? Could she?

      Could she not?

      Her lashes parted, and she looked at him. Directly. Her expression was so direct that the sensation rocked him to the soles of his feet.

      “Meghan,” she said.

      “Meghan,” he repeated, sliding the syllables around his tongue, savoring its subtle taste.

      “Meghan Carroll.”

      He nodded. The name fit. Soft Feminine. And with a hint of mystery. Meghan. Yeah. He liked it...liked it a lot.

      She shifted; he wondered if she was waiting expectantly for his response.

      “Nice name.”

      The release of her breath sifted through him. She had been waiting. That said a lot about her. But one thing was sure: she wasn’t frightened of him. Skittish maybe, but not scared. That instantly upped his opinion of her. Kyle didn’t care much for spinelessness.

      “Are you hungry?” she asked.

      Her tone was reluctant, as if she knew she had to ask the question, but regretted the necessity. Still, he answered with honesty. “Starving.”

      “I guess...you should eat with me.”

      “Is that an invitation?” Kyle cocked a grin.

      The tension on her face lessened. “Sorry, I didn’t mean for it to sound that way.”

      “What way?” He waited for her to respond, wondered if she’d do it with the same frankness she’d shown so far.

      “Rude. That was rude, and I’m not usually rude.”

      “Do you usually have strange men in your kitchen?”

      With her right hand, she brushed errant strands of hair away from her face. He stood close to her, closer than she probably liked, yet he didn’t back off.

      Kyle caught the faint whiff of her understated perfume—light with a hint of unfulfilled promise—and couldn’t recall the last time he’d been with a woman as sensually appealing as Meghan.

      He wondered why he suddenly felt hungry, not physically but emotionally.

      “No,” she finally admitted. “You’re the first man who’s been in my kitchen.”

      The information stunned him, pleased him. It shouldn’t have, but it did. And how.

      “I’ll serve,” Meghan said, shattering the tension that had slowly been building. “If you set the table.”

      “Ah, a modern woman.”

      She gave a small smile that transformed her features and made his insides flame with awareness.

      “You can do the dishes, too,” she said.

      “Do I smell homemade bread?”

      She indicated a small white appliance. “Bread-maker—my one extravagance this year.”

      “All this for the measly price of setting the table and washing the dishes?”

      “I hate doing dishes.”

      Slowly, she’d revealed several aspects of her personality. Kyle wanted each stripped and laid bare before him. And he had a few thoughts about what to do once they were. “Lady, you’ve got a deal.”

      Kyle hadn’t been in a kitchen like this for years. It covered at least three hundred square feet, huge, rambling and, by today’s standards, a waste of space.

      But he remembered a similar kitchen, always filled with the scent of spice. Kyle also recalled helping his grandmother, Grandma Aggie, in that kitchen, begging for the honor of cracking the eggs against the ancient metal strip surrounding the counter.

      “Something funny?” Meghan asked.

      Startled at her perception, he looked up from setting bowls and silverware on the table.

      “You’re smiling,” she added.

      “My grandmother had a kitchen like this. Brings back memories.” His own designer kitchenette didn’t look anything similar to either. Meghan’s kitchen didn’t have a microwave; his was built in above the stove he’d never used. Nor did she have a dishwasher. But she had something he didn’t: a feeling of home.

      Kyle realized he wouldn’t have been as comfortable in her home if her kitchen had resembled his. That thought gave him pause, made him question, again, his reasons for deciding to return to Chicago and accept control of Murdock Enterprises—his father’s business—in the New Year.

      Snowflake entered the kitchen, toenails clicking on the worn floor. He curled beneath the table, apparently anxious for handouts. Judging by the extra few pounds on the mutt, Meghan was an indulgent mistress.

      A soft heart.

      No surprise there. He wouldn’t be shocked to learn Snowflake had shown up on her doorstep—much like Kyle—and that she’d kept the animal.

      Meghan poured two cups of coffee, then joined Kyle at the table. Their knees brushed. Their glances collided. And then she slammed him in the solar plexus by licking her lower lip.

      Longing. And an urge to possess.

      Neither feeling was welcome. But there they were, raw and honest. Trouble was, there wasn’t a thing he could do about them.

      Kyle had promised she was in no danger from him. In that instant, he wondered if he’d lied.

      He СКАЧАТЬ