He placed a hand over his heart. “Would I serve such an extraordinary woman such an ordinary dessert? You wound me. Hell, you don’t give me enough credit, Cat.” He hesitate
d only an instant before caving. “It’s Jell-O,” he muttered.
She grinned. “It’s my absolute favorite dessert, too. When I was in culinary school, they used to tease me all the time that for someone with the ability to whip up the most intricate desserts, I had the taste of a peasant.”
“Did you just say culinary school?”
She grinned. “Yup.”
“I made Jell-O instant pudding for an expert?”
“Don’t worry. I know this was last minute and nothing’s easier than milk and mix from a box. I don’t expect anything like tiramisu until the second date, at least.” She glanced over. “What’s the matter? You look green.”
“Wounded is more like it. My ego is a fragile thing.”
She laughed and finished off her pudding in a couple of healthy spoonfuls. “That was the best pudding I’ve ever eaten. I don’t think even chocolate mousse can compare.” Giggling, Catherine continued. “Your talent in the kitchen is unsurpassed. I—”
He cut her off by swiping a finger across her lips. His touch was electric and her laughter came to a sudden halt.
“You had pudding on your lips. See?” He held up his chocolate-smeared finger.
She nodded, unable to speak, somehow knowing what would happen next. He met her gaze. His brown eyes, the color of the rich pudding, glittered with desire.
“Want to finish it off?” he asked.
Drawn by his compelling gaze, lured by the depth of his voice and the sizzling desire burning between them, Catherine leaned forward. She never wavered, never let her gaze veer from his, as her lips closed over his finger. Chocolate mixed with the salty taste of his skin as she licked and finished off the last of the pudding.
Long after he should have pulled back, his finger remained, and he traced the outline of her lips. “Better than licking the bowl, huh?” he asked.
“Much,” she whispered. He’d removed his hand, but she didn’t know if she could say any more. Her lips tingled. So did her body. Even her breasts had pulled into tight peaks that longed for Logan’s touch.
She wondered if he could read her mind. If he knew how much she wanted him. If he reached out and cupped her breasts in his hand, she wouldn’t mind. Right now, she’d welcome any touch he offered, anything to soothe the raging need he’d inspired.
She drew a deep breath. “I really should clean up.”
“Running away?” he asked, his breathing as ragged as hers.
“Taking a time-out.”
He leaned back, resting against his palms. His gaze never wavered. “Just don’t take too long.”
* * *
Catherine entered the family room in time to see Logan stoking the wood in the fireplace. He fed the flames, much the same way the desire raged between them, begging to be fueled with more than just a caress.
Since he’d cooked, the least she could do was clean up. He hadn’t liked it, but she’d insisted because it was the polite thing to do and because she’d needed distance from his magnetic appeal. The mindless work of washing dishes should have helped. After all, she understood the grind of dishwashing better than most.
When she was sixteen, she’d begun hanging out with the wrong crowd—an excuse to stay out of the empty, lonely apartment where they lived. Kayla did the same, but she’d been smart enough even then to choose the public library as a place to hide. Catherine hadn’t, and as a result, one night she and her so-called friends had gone out for dinner to a restaurant not one of them could afford. Although Catherine hadn’t known it at the time, the other kids had thought it would be a blast to sneak out without paying the bill. Thanks to Kayla’s well-meaning concern, that night Catherine had been minus her wallet since her sister thought it would keep her from going out and hanging with the friends Kayla didn’t like. She’d been wrong.
Catherine had gone anyway, then hesitated a second too long when it was time to get out of there. She’d been the only one with any sense of guilt—and the only one who’d gotten caught. A local cop had brought her home, and she’d spent the rest of her summer washing dishes in the restaurant kitchen. She was lucky she hadn’t spent the night in jail.
She’d always be grateful to the restaurant owner. Not because he hadn’t pressed charges but because he’d turned her life around. He was responsible for her interest in cooking and catering. He’d given her a job and the safe, welcoming haven she’d never had.
Catherine smiled at the memory. She hadn’t thought of Otto and his wife in years. Obviously, Logan’s closeness with his grandmother brought out the better memories of her childhood. They weren’t all bad, as she sometimes thought. Even dishwashing had its good points. But, apparently, the mindless work hadn’t given her the distance or perspective she’d hoped for tonight because her body was still wound tight.
She glanced at Logan in silence. He’d showered and changed while she was in the kitchen. The intriguing muscles in his back rippled beneath a soft cotton T-shirt and his broad shoulders flexed with each poke of the fire.
She wanted to feel the ripple of those muscles beneath her fingertips, to pull his shirt off and plaster her body against his and let the heat of his skin brand her as his own. Catherine bit down on her lower lip. She was in deep.