Sweet Southern Nights. Rochelle Alers

Чтение книги онлайн.

      Chapter 3

      Angela breathed an audible sigh when she opened the wall oven door to find the large roast chicken had cooked to a perfect golden-brown. “Is it okay?” Levi said, standing behind her.

       Smiling and moving to her left, she winked at him. “Take a look.”

       “Hot damn! The girl can cook!”

       “Bite your tongue! I don’t know what kind of women you’ve been hanging out with, but one thing I’ll readily admit is that yours truly can jam in the kitchen.”

       Levi took a step, his chest only inches from Angela’s back. “The women I date usually don’t cook.”

       “Don’t or can’t?” she asked.

       He smiled. “Don’t.”

       “How or where do you eat?”

       “We make reservations, or I’ll cook for her.”

       Shifting slightly, Angela stared up at Levi over her shoulder. The word keeper came to mind and she wondered why some woman hadn’t become Mrs. Levi Eaton, except, of course, if he was afraid of marriage. And, if he was, then he would fit quite nicely into her plans since she had no intention of ever getting married. In that moment Angela decided she would try to keep Levi around until he went back to New York—unless he decided otherwise. After all, he appeared to be every woman’s fantasy. He was gorgeous, intelligent and single. But, then she thought about Robert.

       She saw Levi’s mouth moving before she realized he was talking to her. “I’m sorry, but my mind was elsewhere,” she apologized.

       “I asked if you wanted me to help you bring anything to the table.”

       Angela blinked as if coming out of a trance. “Yes. After I take the chicken out of the roasting pan you can take it out to the terrace.”

       Taking off his suit jacket, Levi draped it over the back of one of the chairs in the breakfast nook. He then loosened his tie, unbuttoned and turned back the cuffs to his shirt. His gaze swept around the gourmet kitchen with stainless steel appliances. Double-wall ovens, two sinks, two dishwashers, a counter-depth refrigerator-freezer and a cook-top range and grill were a chef’s dream kitchen.

       The house had quintessential Southern architecture with a wraparound porch, second story veranda, window shutters and a trio of ceiling fans on the front porch.

       “Is there someplace that I can wash my hands?” he asked.

       Angela pointed to a door at the far end of the kitchen. “There’s a half bath over there.”

       She watched as he walked toward the bathroom. Even his walk was sexy. He didn’t walk or glide—he had a swagger. It was in that instant that she decided she was going to call on everything in her feminine arsenal to keep Levi Eaton around for as long as he remained in Kentucky. And if she and Levi became friends, then she would be more than willing to make the drive to Maywood Junction to see him. Having him around would assuage her mother’s concern that she was ruining her reputation by seeing a different man every few months.

       The women in Dianne Chase’s social circle were quick to report that they’d seen Angela with a guy one week and another a month later, much to her mother’s consternation. Not only did Dianne have an unmarried thirty-something daughter, but none of her sons were married and she still wasn’t a grandmother. However, what her mother failed to realize, even after Angela informed her she wasn’t sleeping with any of the guys she dated, was that she didn’t really care about such salacious gossip.

       Even though she told them on their first date that she had no intention of sleeping with them, that didn’t stop her dates from trying to change her mind.

       Levi returned to the kitchen just when Angela was taking the chicken from the pan and placing it on a platter. He smiled when he saw that she’d put on a black pin-striped bibbed apron.

       “Let me do that,” he offered, lengthening his stride until he was standing next to her. Lifting the rack from the roasting pan, he managed to slide the bird onto the platter with little or no effort. The tantalizing aromas titillated his nose. “What did you stuff it with?”

       “Long-grain rice, raisins, finely diced apples and ground cinnamon.”

       “It smells amazing.”

       “It tastes amazing,” Angela confirmed. “I can’t take credit because it’s my aunt’s recipe. She threw a lot of dinner parties in this house, and her culinary style was to combine as many dishes into one that you can. She said if you’re serving chicken, then stuff it so you don’t have to prepare separate side dishes.”

       Levi gave Angela an incredulous look. “You live here with your aunt?”

       Angela laughed, the sound resembling the tinkling of a wind chime. “No. She now lives in a chateau in France’s wine country with her longtime lover. She gave me the house as a wedding gift.” She compressed her lips. “It was the only gift that I didn’t have to return.”

       He heard the throatiness in her voice when she’d mentioned wedding gift. “Your aunt sounds like a colorful character.”

       “Colorful wouldn’t begin to describe her. Folks around her called her everything but a child of God. And those were the compliments. They’d failed to realize she was her own woman who lived by her own set of rules. If something made Nicola Chase happy then she made everyone around her happy. If not, then stay out of her way.”

       “It sounds as if you are quite fond of her.”

       Walking over to the refrigerator, Angela took out bottles of chilled white and rosé wines. Using her shoulder, she closed the door. “I grew up wanting to be just like her, much to my mother’s horror.”

       Resting his hip against the cooking island, Levi crossed his arms over his chest. “Did you?”

       “I wish.”

       “Don’t you like how your life has turned out?”

       “Please don’t get me wrong, Levi. I’m quite satisfied with my life. It’s other folks who don’t believe I am.”

       She turned and walked out of the kitchen. Levi followed with the platter as she led the way to the glass-enclosed sunroom. Charcoal-gray solar blinds provided privacy from prying eyes. When he’d followed the private road leading to Angela’s house, he noticed that it overlooked a lake surrounded by a copse of weeping willow trees.

       His gaze swept over the room, the focus of which was a table covered in a white linen tablecloth with a black-and-white-striped runner, and set with china, crystal and sterling silver. White candles in varying heights flickered in crystal votives, hurricane lanterns and candelabras. Angela touched a wall switch and track lighting illuminated the space like starlight pinpoints, while soft music filled the room from concealed speakers.

       He set the platter down on the table beside a vase of white and deep pink flowers. “This is very, very nice.”

       Angela met his eyes across the table. “Thank you.”

       СКАЧАТЬ