Leaping Hearts(26)

I can’t believe I’m doing this, A.J. thought, feeling like she could begin giggling with hysteria at any moment. She was going to live with Devlin McCloud.

“Good thing you came prepared,” he said, picking up one of her bags.

“It was either you or the exotic one-star motor lodge, Nero’s Palace.” She took out the other one and then put up the roof.

When they got to the farmhouse, Devlin held the door open for her and she brushed against him as she went inside. She felt a shock from the contact.

“I’ll take care of dinner,” he said, dropping her bag next to the couch. “You know where the shower is.”

A.J. thought he seemed in a big hurry to leave the room. After he left, she put down the luggage she was carrying, hung up her coat and wondered whether she should follow him into the kitchen to help. Looking down at her dirty hands and feeling her hair itch from having been under a helmet for the afternoon overrode her desire to be polite so she headed upstairs.

The bathroom wasn’t big but it had every modern amenity, including a whirlpool bath, which she eyed with naked lust. Cranking on the water, she watched greedily as the deep tub started to fill and the jets began working their magic. She fished through her bag and found some bath salts, which she sprinkled into the frothing water, releasing a delicate lavender scent.

When was the last time she’d taken a bath? Some dim memory from the previous winter came to mind. She’d been sick, if she recalled, with a nose that looked like a clown’s and a honking cough to fill in for her lack of a circus horn. At that time, her submersion had been medicinal.

Now it was going to be pleasurable.

Despite her exhaustion, A.J. shed her clothes with glee and stepped into the undulating, perfumed water. The tub was big enough that she could lie down and be fully immersed while the jets sent pulses of warm water to her aching muscles. When she stepped out much later, pink and glowing, she felt renewed. Toweling off, she slipped into a comfortable pair of khakis and a cream knit sweater. She left her hair to dry in loose waves over her shoulders and headed downstairs feeling more herself.

Things only got better when A.J. hit the ground floor. Some heavenly smell was drifting out of the kitchen and her stomach grumbled with appreciation as she walked into the room. Devlin was at the stove, stirring the contents of a pot. On the table, there were two deep bowls flanked by man-sized spoons on neatly folded dish towels. The only other things on the rugged surface were wooden salt and pepper shakers and a basket of bread.

“Take a seat and I’ll dish it up,” Devlin said.

“Smells wonderful.”

All the obvious attractions and talents and he cooks, she thought as she sat down and spread the gingham towel across her lap.

When Devlin reached over to pick up her bowl and returned it filled with a hearty beef and vegetable stew, she smiled. The meal was a far cry from the sparse gourmet food served on delicate china that she got at the mansion. The menu that came out of Regina’s kitchen was restricted to skeletal pieces of meat or fish that were accessorized with flamboyant but insubstantial vegetables. For someone whose only exercise was admiring herself, it was a fine diet, A.J. had always thought. It was far from sufficient for an athlete, however, and she’d long before learned to tuck a spare sandwich under her arm on the way to bed.

But this is what I call dinner, she marveled, looking down at the food.

“You can stop staring at it,” Devlin said, sitting down with his own hefty portion. “I know it’s not lobster Newburg but it won’t poison you, I promise.”

“I was just thinking how grateful I am. I’m tired of dinners that are heavy on preparation and light on the plate. If I never see another damned crepe or something with a garnish of endive, it’ll be too soon.”

“Well, you’re safe here.” He laughed. “I’m a meat-and-potatoes kind of man.”

Devlin watched as she sampled the stew, thinking what a tangle of contradictions she was. A wealthy dilettante who cleaned her own tack and wanted to sleep on his couch instead of in a castle. A driven competitor who was looking too fragile to have fought the stallion all afternoon. A seductress who made his blood pound but seemed totally clueless about how beautiful she was. A woman who was raised on gourmet food who was now eating his stew like it was the best thing she’d ever tasted.

Maybe I’m not attracted to her, he thought. I’m just confused.

When she took another mouthful of the stew and sighed with contentment, her eyes flashed up at him. “And to think I used to believe laundry fresh out of the dryer was the pinnacle of bliss.”

“I’m sure you’ve had better,” he said, trying not to drown in the blue he found so captivating.

“Well, I’ve certainly had smaller. What I usually get could fit on the head of a pin and is more art than edible.”

He cocked an eyebrow.

“Regina’s cook likes to express himself in three dimensions. He’s great at color, texture and presentation. The man’s less strong on calories.”

“Regina’s the wicked stepmother?”

“More like all-pervasive,” A.J. replied between mouthfuls. “For a short woman, she has a way of taking up a lot of space.”

“Personality can add inches where high heels fail.”

“You got that right. My father really loves her, though, and he seems happy, so who am I to judge? I just sneak a sandwich or two on the way upstairs. Like he does.”