In the Heat of the Spotlight. Кейт Хьюит

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      Slowly she let out her breath. She was scared. Of singing, and of him. Of how much he seemed to see. Know. And yet part of her craved it all at the same time. Desperately. ‘All right.’

      ‘Any recommendations for a good place to eat around here?’

      ‘Not really. There’s a fast food joint in the next town over—’

      ‘Anything else?’

      ‘Nothing closer than thirty miles.’

      He said nothing, but his thoughtful gaze still unnerved her. This whole thing was a bad idea, and she should call it off right now—

      ‘Tell you what,’ Luke suggested. ‘I’ll cook for you.’

      ‘What?’ No man had ever cooked for her, or even offered.

      ‘I’m not Michelin, but I make a decent steak and chips.’

      ‘I don’t have any steak.’

      ‘Do you eat it?’

      ‘Yes—’

      ‘Then I’ll go out and buy some. And over a meal we’ll discuss Asia.’

      It sounded so pleasant, so normal, and yet still she hesitated. Pleasant and normal were out of her realm of experience. Then she thought of what Luke was offering her—an actual chance—and she nodded. Grudgingly. ‘Okay.’

      ‘Good.’ He turned to go. ‘I’ll be back in half an hour.’

      Thirty minutes’ respite. ‘Okay,’ she said again, and then he was gone.

      Luke gave her nearly an hour. He thought she needed the break. Hell, he did too. He took his time choosing two thick fillets, a bag of potatoes, some salad. He thought about buying a bottle of wine, but decided against it. This was a business dinner. Strictly business, no matter how much his libido acted up or how much he remembered that mind-blowing kiss—

      Hell.

      He stopped right there in the drinks aisle and asked himself just what he was doing here. His brain might be insisting it was just business, but his body said otherwise. His body remembered the feel of her lips, the smoke of her voice, the emotion in her eyes. His body remembered and wanted, and that was dangerous. Crazy.

      He straightened, forced himself to think as logically as he always did. All right, yes, he desired her. He’d admitted it. But this was still business. If Aurelie’s performance at Bryant’s gave her the kind of comeback he envisioned, it would create fantastic publicity for the store. It was, pure and simple, a good business move. That was why he was here.

      As he resolutely turned towards the checkout, he felt a prickle of unease, even guilt. He’d told Aurelie he didn’t lie, but right then he was pretty sure he was lying to himself.

      By the time he made it back to the house on the end of the little town’s sleepiest street it was early evening, the sun’s rays just starting to mellow. The air was turning crisp, and he could see a few scarlet leaves on the maple outside the weathered clapboard house Aurelie called home.

      He rang the doorbell, listened to it wheeze and then her light footsteps. She opened the door and he saw that she’d showered—squash that vision right now—and her hair was damp and tucked behind her ears. She’d changed into a pale green cashmere sweater and a pair of skinny jeans, and when he glanced down he saw she was wearing fuzzy pink socks. Fuchsia, actually.

      He nodded towards the socks. ‘Those look cosy.’

      She gave him the smallest of smiles, but at least it felt real. ‘My feet get cold.’

      ‘May I come in?’

      She nodded, and he sensed the lack of artifice from her. Liked it. Who is Aurelie Schmidt? Maybe he’d find out.

      But did he really want to?

      She moved aside and he came in with the bag of groceries. ‘Do you mind if I make myself comfortable in your kitchen?’

      She hesitated, and he could almost imagine her suggestive response. You go ahead and make yourself comfortable anywhere, Luke. He could practically write the script for her, because he was pretty sure now that was all it was: a script. Lines. This time she didn’t give them to him; she just shrugged. ‘Sure.’

      He nodded and headed towards the back of the house.

      Fifteen minutes later he had the steaks brushed with olive oil and in the oven, the potatoes sliced into wedges and frying on the stove, and he was tossing a salad. Aurelie perched on a stool, her fuzzy feet hooked around the rungs, and watched him.

      ‘Do you like to cook?’

      ‘Sometimes. I’m not a gourmet, by any means. Not like my brother Chase.’

      ‘He’s good?’

      Luke shrugged. He wished he hadn’t mentioned Chase, or anything to do with his family. He preferred not to dredge those dark memories up; he’d determinedly pushed them way, way down. Yet something about this woman—her fragility, perhaps—brought them swimming up again. ‘He’s good at most things,’ he replied with a shrug. He reached for some vinaigrette. ‘Do you have brothers or sisters?’

      ‘No.’ From the flat way she spoke Luke guessed she was as reluctant to talk about her family as he was to talk about his. Fine with him.

      He finished tossing the salad. ‘Everything should be ready in a few minutes.’

      Aurelie slid off her stool to get the plates. ‘It smells pretty good.’

      He glanced up, smiling wryly. ‘Are we actually having a civil conversation?’

      ‘Sounds like it.’ She didn’t smile back, just took a deep breath, the plates held to her chest. ‘Look, if you came here on some kind of mercy mission, just forget it. I don’t need your pity.’

      He stilled. ‘I don’t pity you.’

      ‘If not pity, then what?’

      A muscle bunched in his jaw. ‘What are you saying?’

      She lifted her chin. ‘I find it hard to believe you came all the way to Vermont to ask me to sing. You hadn’t even heard that song. It could have sucked. Maybe it does.’

      ‘I admit, it was a risk.’

      ‘So why did you come? What’s the real reason?’ Suspicion sharpened her voice, twisted inside him like a knife. Did she actually think he’d come here to get her into bed?

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