Tempted & Taken (Men of Haven #4)(42)

He cleared his throat and forced his brain back online. He’d just jumped all over her ass without even a hint of provocation, and here he was planning out how and when to get her undressed. “Axel’s mom.”

She smiled, the genuineness of it so open and sweet it moved through him like a cleansing rain, forgiving him and luring back out into the sunshine all in one sweep. “I’m not sure what is more surprising. That Axel has the type of mother to share recipes, or that you actually use them.”

He laughed at that, all the tension that had gripped him the last five minutes melting away along with it. “Actually, Sylvie almost never shares her recipes. She’d rather cook for us than make us self-sufficient, but she knows I’ve got a thing for fat and cheese.” He nodded to the piece of paper loosely pinched between her fingers. “She calls that one Bachelor Lasagna.”

Her mouth twitched. “So, you’ve actually made it?”

“Several times.” He backed away from the stove and motioned her into his place. “You think you can finish up while I work?”

She scanned the counter and glanced at the recipe. “I don’t see why not.”

He nodded and started to amble back to the living room and his backpack, but hesitated before he got more than three steps in. “Darya?”

She looked up from the stove, a spatula in one hand and the skillet lid in the other.

“I’m sorry I jumped your shit. I just...” Didn’t like the thought of some asshole getting his hands on her. Hell, he didn’t like the thought of anyone’s hands on her. Which was precisely what had driven him here tonight in the first place. “You need to be careful.”

Her gaze slid back to the stove, but not before he caught the surprise in her eyes. “Believe me. I’m very, very careful.”

Before things could dive any deeper into awkward, he snatched his backpack off the living room floor and unpacked his tools. As televisions went, hers wasn’t very big, but at least it wasn’t ancient. It was also lightweight, making sliding it and the ebony particleboard stand it sat on a breeze.

“What are you doing?” Darya said from behind him.

He froze for a second, considered tossing her some bullshit excuse then decided against it. “Fixing your lackluster cable selection.”

“But I can’t afford anything more than basic.”

She might not, but he could. And while he’d tried like hell to fight it the last seven days, he’d be blowing sunshine up his own ass if he didn’t admit he had every intention of spending at least a few more nights here. “You’re not going to pay a dime. Consider it a job perk,” he said to the now exposed connection. “Payback for putting up with my attitude this week.”

Her presence behind him stayed locked in place, but she kept her silence. At least at first. Then she nearly knocked him from his crouch to his knees with her soft voice. “You’re who you are and you’re taking a chance on me. That is benefit enough.” Her footsteps padded away a second later, leaving him alone with his swirling thoughts.

He really had been an ass. Cold. Insanely distant. But what the hell else was he supposed to do? He didn’t dare give in and make himself available for the same affection she gave everyone else. Let alone reciprocate it. That path spelled a hard ending that would kill him because he actually liked this woman. Respected the hell out of her intellect and her wit. Not to mention wanting to lock her up in a room, curl around her and indulge himself on her body.

Shaking off the round-and-round in his head, he screwed the faceplate back in place, gathered up his tools and put her furniture and TV back to rights. By the time he’d stowed things away and ambled into the kitchen to wash his hands, she’d already stowed the six pack of beer he’d brought, started building the layers in the casserole dish and had the skillet soaking in the sink. “Oven pre-heated?”

Her gaze slid to his hands under the cold water and her lips twitched. “Yes.”

What? She thought he had the manners of an oaf or something?

Well, okay. Maybe that had been the case the first few times he’d walked into Ninette and Sylvie’s kitchen, but they’d fixed that shit in short order. He killed the water and dried his hands. From this angle, her shirt didn’t give so much as a glimpse of what lay hidden beneath, but the hem danced around her mid-thigh with every move. He cocked his head, a dangerous but oh-so delicious idea blossoming in his head.

He snatched the foil she’d left on the opposite counter, slid it next to the casserole dish and moved in close behind her. “Thought you might need that.”

“Thank you.” So breathless. Very aware of his presence.

That was the best part, especially with Darya. The anticipation. The snap and burn that fired every time he so much as looked at her. He smoothed his hands down her hips then gathered the shirt up inch-by-inch.

Her back-and-forth as she spread the sauce on her last layer slowed, the spoon quivering in her grip. “What are you doing?”

Grazing his lips along the bared side of her neck, he inhaled deep. Her scent was stronger today. Must be the soap she used that gave her that winter rose smell. Or maybe her shampoo. Whatever it was was addictive. He hooked his fingers in the waistband of her leggings and eased them down, taking her panties with them. “Keep working.”

“Knox—” Her spoon clattered to the Formica, pasta sauce and cheese splattering the otherwise pristine surface. She gripped the counter’s edge tight and let out a shaky breath.