Hot Commodity (Banks / Kincaid Family #1)(48)

Finally, it occurred to her that maybe the cooking instructions were on the noodle box. Wrinkling her nose, she glanced toward the trashcan.

"Eww," she said, and decided if a man could get from point A to point B without stopping for directions, then a woman could certainly cook a meal without digging through the nasty trash.

So, she cranked the heat up to full-blast and went about inspecting Cameron’s wine fridge. She picked out the perfect blend for an Italian supper before it struck her that wine was alcohol. Probably not the best beverage for a recovering alcoholic.

Immediately, she slipped the wine back into the cooler and decided to make coffee. Which was an experience all on its own.

*

Olivia wanted to melt into the floor and die of humiliation.

By the time, Cameron appeared in the kitchen doorway, the room was in utter chaos. Thick ugly smoke rose from the spaghetti while coffee dripped directly onto the burner because there was no pot waiting to catch the brew. And the smoke detector wailed out a piercing yowl.

"What the hell!" He flew into the room and tossed his briefcase onto a counter before dashing to where she was fanning the smoking spaghetti. Grabbing the handle, he jerked the scorched pan off the heat and turned off the stove. Then he disabled the alarm.

Once the noise stopped, he turned and eyed the mess in his kitchen. Grinning, he shook his head. "I thought you were kidding when you said you’d have supper ready."

"I was," she grumbled. "But I’m famished. I thought it was better to make a go at cooking than die of hunger."

"Why didn’t you just have something delivered?" He motioned toward the refrigerator where all sorts of menus and magnets were posted, advertising a variety of food deliveries.

Olivia flushed. To tell the truth, she hadn’t even noticed all the numbers. But she frowned and set her hands on her hips, eyeing him critically. "And just how was I supposed to pay for food? I don’t have any money."

"Ah. Good point." Turning back to the pot of her scorched attempt at spaghetti, he scratched the back of his neck as he tapped at a crusty piece of pasta sticking from the top. After glancing in at the sauce, he cocked a curious glance Olivia’s way. "Um, did you, by chance, forget to boil your

pasta first?"

Olivia blinked. "You’re supposed to boil it…in water?"

He laughed. "Well, yeah." He pulled a stiff stick from the red goo. "Interesting," he murmured as if her failure was the most entertaining thing he’d ever witnessed.

Olivia sat her hands on her hips. "Just how do you know how to cook?"

"My mom." He picked up the handle of the pot and cleared his throat. "Say, let’s dump this, ah, whatever it is, and order Chinese."

"I thought you knew how to cook," Olivia countered, still irritated her disaster only amused him.

"Hey, just because I know how, doesn’t mean I do."

"But what about all the food in the cabinets?"

"That would be my mother. Again. She likes to stock my kitchen every few weeks. My housekeeper, Greta, will usually make a meal and leave it in the fridge. But she only comes on Wednesdays and Sundays."

Olivia sighed, admitting defeat. "Okay," she said. "Let’s order Chinese. But I’m going to need, like, a dozen egg rolls."

*

Half an hour later, the kitchen was free of all coffee and spaghetti. Olivia and Cameron sat cross-legged on his leather couch, eating delivery from oriental to-go boxes.

Olivia licked soy sauce off her thumb and sent Cam a rueful grin. "You don’t happen to know how to use the washing machine, do you?"

He glanced up, surprised. "Why?"

"I’m running out of clean clothes." Olivia motioned to her outfit.

He shrugged. "Just have Greta wash them on Wednesday when she comes to clean," he offered.

She flushed. "I, uh, I’m going to run out before then."

Cameron paused and studied her shirt and slacks. "You need more clothes," he finally surmised.

She didn’t answer, but busied herself pulling apart a crab rangoon.

"But you don’t have any money," Cameron added softly. "I’m finally catching on here." He held up a finger for her to wait and lifted his hip off the couch in order to dig into his back pocket.

When he pulled out his wallet, Olivia instantly scowled. "I don’t want your money."

He ignored her and pulled free a credit card. When he handed it over, she merely glared at it.

"I’m serious," she said. "You’re already doing too much for me."

"Hey, you’re my wife," he said in a playful manner. "What’s mine is yours, right?" When Olivia didn’t budge, he sent her an imploring look. "You know I have more than enough to buy you ten new wardrobes, right?"

"Cameron, I need to start learning how to do things on my own. If I

just keep taking hand-outs from you, I’ll never—"

"Then don’t think of it as a hand-out," he interrupted.

When she opened her mouth to interrupt, he held up a hand. "Think of it as a jump start. Once you’re on your feet, I’ll cut you loose."

She nodded and finally slipped the card slowly from his hand. "I’ll pay you back as soon as I can."