She did what he’d asked, and tried not to think about how good it felt as he carried her to the cleared sidewalk and set her on her feet.
“OK?” he said softly, with his arm still curved around her.
“OK,” she said, trying not to sound as breathless as she felt.
“Nobody here knows who I am,” he said quietly. “They all think I’m the new manager of the Triple G, a guy named—”
“Bannister. I know.”
Another quick nod. Then he moved ahead of her toward the door. It swung open just as he reached it. An older man came through it, looked at her, at Nick, and tipped his Stetson.
“Mornin’.”
“Morning,” Nick said.
The greeting was quick, but the look the other man flashed as Nick went past him hinted at something. It was the same look that shot across the face of the guy behind the counter.
“Bannister.”
“Jessup.”
It was a fast, impersonal greeting, but easy to read.
Both the men who’d just greeted Nick knew exactly who he was. The only person they were fooling was Nick. It was the kind of human courtesy you could find in small towns, and Nick, the big jerk, had no idea he was on the receiving end of it.
Lissa thought about telling him, thought better of it, and sighed.
“What?” Nick said.
“Nothing. I’m just trying to think of what to buy.”
“Whatever you like. And plenty of it. Might as well lay in enough for the week, just so long as it’s not going to be too complicated for me to put together.”
“You?”
“Well, me and Gus.”
Lissa snorted. “A pair of gourmet cooks, all right.”
Nick grinned. “Just take one of those carts, Duchess, and fill it up while I check on some stuff in the back.”
“Yessir, Mr. Bannister, sir.”
Nick’s eyes darkened. “Nice,” he said in a low voice. “I like the idea of you obeying me.”
Heat shot from her breasts to her belly. She felt her nipples lift and bud, felt the area between her thighs grow damp.
Crazy. That was crazy! One sentence, one swiftly-spoken sentence, and her mind filled with images so hot that she had to bite back a moan.
Blindly, she swung away, grabbed a shopping cart and all but ran down the first aisle.
* * *
Almost an hour later, she pushed the cart up the last aisle to the front counter where Nick and several big cardboard boxes were waiting. He motioned to the man behind the counter.
“This is Tom Jessup, Lissa. Tom, this is Lissa Wilde. The temporary cook—the temporary chef at the Triple G.”
Tom Jessup smiled. “Find everything you needed, ma’am?”