Sweet On Peggy. Stella MacLean
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Название: Sweet On Peggy
Автор: Stella MacLean
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
isbn: 9781474047111
isbn:
Peggy had never found herself in such a perplexing situation. The men she’d dated had usually bombed out by the time the second date rolled around. Yet Rory’s presence in her life had turned out to be really fun. She was suddenly energized and pleased with everything.
She put her best place mats on the table, and all the while she kept glancing at him, at the way he so skillfully put together the salad. He caught her looking at him and smiled. “Rice?”
“In the long cupboard next to the fridge,” she said.
Too late she realized she’d crammed that cupboard with boxes of cereal and parts of her grocery order she hadn’t found a place for yet. “Whoops!” She watched as cereal boxes tumbled out, landing at his feet. She rushed to scoop them up. “Sorry about that,” she said, gathering up the boxes. Standing close to him with nothing but a couple of flimsy boxes between them, she could feel his heat, see the awareness in his eyes and wanted to jump into his arms. Well, maybe not jump, but certainly get closer to him.
“I’m not sorry,” he said, his voice a slow drawl that played along her spine, a thrill passing through her. She clutched the boxes in her hands as their eyes met. The deepest, bluest eyes she’d ever seen. There was just a hint of stubble on his jaw. She wanted to run her fingers through his sun-bleached hair.
This man was simply too good to be true. There had to be a story here. Where were all the women in his life? No red-blooded woman could resist those eyes. Not a chance.
She pointed to the top cupboard. “The rice would be just over your right shoulder,” she said, her voice sounding breathless in her ears. She put the cereal boxes on the counter and found the rice steamer in the bottom drawer next to the dishwasher, acutely aware that her rear end was sticking up in the air as she fished around the depths of the drawer.
Feeling self-conscious, she rushed to set the table, putting out a bowl of pink peonies she’d cut earlier. By the time she was finished fixing and fretting, her pulse was racing.
“The rice is nearly finished.”
Darn! She’d forgotten to start the fish. “The fish will only take a few minutes,” she said, hurrying back to the kitchen.
He’d already turned on the burner. “Butter?” he asked.
Wordlessly, she pointed to the white butter dish resting near the back of the counter. The man filled her tiny kitchen with his presence, his easy way, his sexy body.
“Now, all we need is music,” he said, maneuvering the frying pan over the hot burner to the sound of sizzling butter.
“What do you like?” she asked.
“When it comes to music, I’m old-fashioned. I was raised on ’60s music, thanks to my mother’s love of it.”
“I like it, too.”
He slid the fish into the frying pan. “Did you get that from your mother, as well?”
“Not really. It’s just great music, the beginnings of today’s more modern, less appealing music.”
“Couldn’t agree more.” He turned those blue eyes on her again and she felt her mouth go dry. “Plates?”
“Oh, yeah.” She went to the cupboard and took out two plates. “I’ll take the salad to the table,” she said, feeling like a teenager suffering through her first crush.
They ate their dinner together, laughed lots to the accompaniment of their favorite music. “I haven’t had this much fun since I came to Eden Harbor,” he said, holding his coffee cup in his hand, his attention on her.
“Me neither.”
He put his cup down and reached across the table, taking her hand in his. “Thank you.”
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