“Yes, very,” Nicky replied as Andrew nodded agreement.
“I have lunch prepared—or would you rather have breakfast food?”
“Any food is fine with me,” Nicky said with a smile.
Again, Andrew nodded.
“I’ve made pork chops and black-eyed peas,” Martha announced. “For good luck, you know.”
Born and raised in the South, Nicky knew the tradition of serving black-eyed peas and pork—traditionally hog jowls, but pork chops were often substituted—for luck on New Year’s Day. As far as she could remember, she’d never had a new year begin without the meal. “That sounds wonderful,” she assured the housekeeper.
“Then go on into the dining room and I’ll bring it in,” Martha instructed, shooing them away with quick gestures of her competent-looking hands.
Nicky soon learned that Andrew hadn’t exaggerated about his housekeeper’s cooking skills. Savory baked pork chops, perfectly seasoned black-eyed peas, fresh turnip greens, candied sweet potatoes, warm yeast rolls—the meal was delicious, and it wasn’t simply hunger that made Nicky think so.
“Oh, man, this is good,” she moaned after eating for a few minutes in appreciative silence.
Andrew smiled and adjusted his glasses with one finger. “I’d bet you didn’t get food like this in Minneapolis.”
“Why do you think I came back to Memphis? Pass the pepper sauce, please.”
He handed her home-bottled pepper sauce and watched as she sprinkled it liberally over her greens and peas. “Better take it easy with that. Martha uses hot peppers.”
She grinned and added a bit more. “I like it hot.”
His eyes darkened, and she realized he’d taken her words as a double entendre. Something in his expression made her pulse race.
Odd, she mused. She’d never been like this with anyone else. Only Andrew had the ability to simply look at her and turn her knees to jelly. What other power did he hold over her?
“Y’all save room for dessert, now,” Martha said as she bustled in to refill their ice tea glasses. “I made pecan pie and lemon icebox, in case you’re craving something sweet.”
Andrew’s expression didn’t waver as he glanced at his housekeeper. “As a matter of fact, I was just craving something sweet,” he murmured.
Nicky choked on her peas.
Martha patted her back solicitously. “Be careful, honey. That pepper sauce is hot,” she warned, spotting the bottle beside Nicky’s plate.
Nicky glared across the table at Andrew, who only smiled bl
andly back at her.
The man was dangerous, she decided. In more ways than one.
WHEN THEY’D EATEN all they could hold, Nicky reminded Andrew that he’d promised to show her the rest of his house. It really was a beautiful place, she decided during the tour, though it could use a few touches of color and whimsy.
Like Andrew, her favorite room was his study with its leather and dark wood, its many shelves of books, and paintings that seemed to reflect his tastes rather than a professional decorator’s. She could easily imagine him spending hours there with his paperwork.
The tour ended where they’d begun the day—in Andrew’s bedroom. And within a few blissful minutes, Nicky changed her mind about her favorite room. This one was definitely superior, she decided as Andrew lowered her to the bed, his mouth fused with hers.
She felt as though she could happily stay here for the rest of her life.
A long time later she squirmed onto her stomach and crossed her hands on Andrew’s bare chest, which was still rising and falling rather rapidly after their vigorous play. She studied his face with narrowed eyes.
After a moment he lifted an eyebrow. “What is it? Why are you staring at me like that?”
“You’re a very handsome man, Andrew Tyler. Even with the bruises. They make you look quite dashing. You could have made a living as a male cover model or something.”
He looked both embarrassed and appalled by the idea. “I don’t think so.”