Million Dollar Devil (Million Dollar #1)(48)

I’m throwing together a quick box meal when Charlie says, “There’s a badass convertible in our driveway.”

“Don’t open the door.” Quickly, I sprinkle bread crumbs on top of a chicken mixture before popping it in the oven. “Did you do your homework?”

“Scouts don’t have homework this weekend.” He holds down the blinds and looks at the driveway again. “If you’re smart, you’ll open the door. That badass car has a badass bitch sitting behind the wheel.”

“She’s not a . . . what’s with the language, kid?”

“Uh-huh.” Charlie laughs. “Somebody’s lovesick.”

“Not lovesick.”

I clench my jaw at the thought.

“You’ve been listening to Darren too much,” I scold. Maria’s husband. “Got your stuff together?”

“Yep.” He grins. “Gonna go out there or make her come in?”

I peer outside.

As I watch her leave her car, I have to admit. This is nice. Great, actually.

I’m glad she’s here.

As soon as she knocks, I swing the door open and grin down at her. She looks nervous and out of sorts, like she’s not sure if she’s overstepped some imaginary boundaries.

“You’re a long way from Midtown.”

“Yes, well, I got your text, and I worried. Is Charlie okay?”

“Yes.”

“And . . . you?” She seems flushed, hesitant as her eyes scan my whole face like a minefield.

“I’m fine. Perfect. Not a nick.” I aim at my face, winking.

Her lips curve, and she shakes her head. “I didn’t ask because of that,” she says but seems relieved to see that I’m well.

I eat her up with my eyes, and it’s intentional as shit.

If she didn’t look so good in a skirt and blouse, I’d haul her off to my bedroom and insist that she throw on one of my T-shirts and get comfortable. She looks like she doesn’t belong here, and yet she’s so girl next door. Maybe it’s the innocent look that makes me crazy.

Or maybe it’s just the sexy woman who causes me to lose my mind.

I move aside. “Would you like to come in?”

“Sure. I thought you’d never ask,” she teases, stepping inside. “You have a really nice place.” She turns to the kitchen, inhaling like she’s just stepped inside her grandma’s kitchen. “You’re cooking something with panko. Aren’t you?”

“Yes. Want to stay for supper?”

“Supper sounds great,” she says, grinning down the hall at Charlie.

“You can stay,” Charlie says, reaching around me to shake her hand. “I’m Charlie. I’m this one’s brother.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Elizabeth. My friends call me Lizzy.”

“Great, Lizzy,” he says, suddenly peering out the window and waving. “Hate to rush, but I’m headed to a campout, and my ride just got here.” He grabs his jacket.

“Hey, tiger, what about your dinner?” I glower like some pissy French chef who thinks the world revolves around his dishes.

“I heard about that,” Lizzy tells Charlie about his campout.

“SWEET.” Charlie shoots her a grin before he turns back to me. “If he’s talking about you to me and me to you, I’d say you’re pretty high on his list of priorities.”

“Okay. Let’s not keep your ride waiting, kiddo.” I use his shoulders to steer him outside.

“Later!” We give one another high fives, and he’s on his way a minute later.

As soon as the door slams, Lizzy says, “Charlie seems like a great kid.”

“He is . . .” The kitchen timer goes off. “And I guess dinner will be ready in five?”

I frown because it’s too damn late for Charlie to eat some, and Lizzy laughs.

“I’m sure he’ll get some food in. Boys that age always do,” she says, as if reading my thoughts. She follows me to the kitchen. “Need some help?”

I suck in a breath and turn to find Lizzy standing at the table.

The French chef is suddenly gone. I feel damn young and awkward, like I’m younger than Charlie and have never had a girl I liked look at me quite like Lizzy is looking at me now. “I’ve got this.” I fake confidence. Fake it till you make it, right?

“If this is too much, too soon—you know, after our embarrassing . . . morning . . . I can go home?”

I shoot her a look that tells her I think she’s insane.

And hot.

And insane.

She’s noticed her effect on me. Chill, Jimmy. I mean James. Yeah, James. James is chill. James has got this. “Go home? Are you kidding? While I enjoy one of the best boxed recipes ever created on my own?”

“Well, when you put it like that . . .”

I sit down and wait for her to do the same. Damn. Where are my manners? I scramble to stand again and hold out her chair. “Have a seat.”

She flushes, as if embarrassed about my blunder.

My hand brushes against her neck, and she jerks. I see the goose bumps scatter across her neck, and I want to kiss her there, kiss her and whisper sweet things that I know will get her going, set her off. Maybe I could start by telling her that I’ll never fuck up and be ill prepared again, tell her that I’m now good on the condoms, lube, whatever the hell she wants.