She knew.
Jackson’s phone rang and as he turned away to answer it Kayla’s smile widened.
“Have a nice evening, Sean. Enjoy your—er—picnic.”
CHAPTER NINE
WHAT DID A woman wear for a casual evening with a man she was trying to keep at a distance?
It had taken her an hour to decide. She’d discarded her little black dress—too formal—and her blue sundress—too pretty?
In the end she’d pulled out a pair of jeans she hadn’t worn for at least four years. The weather was too warm for jeans but at least it wouldn’t look as if she’d tried too hard.
Hot and uncomfortable, Élise paced across her tiny kitchen.
She met attractive men all the time. Some of them were even interesting enough to warrant further attention. But never, ever, had she been tempted to take a relationship further. She’d give her company, her food, her laughter and conversation, occasionally her body—but her heart? Just that one time. Never since.
Sean had promised to do the cooking, but to distract herself she’d made an appetizer of grissini infused with rosemary and dusted with Parmesan cheese that she was thinking of offering with drinks at the Boathouse.
The scent of baking filled Heron Lodge and soothed her. It reminded her of her childhood. Of her mother.
She felt a pang and wished for a moment that she could turn the clock back. That she could have her time again and make different decisions.
She wanted to grab the rebellious, wild, eighteen-year-old version of herself and shake her.
Because she occasionally liked to remind herself of what was important, she reached for the photograph she kept on the window in the kitchen.
A beautiful woman smiled down at the toddler who stood on a stool next to her, whisking ingredients in a bowl, smiling back.
The photo gave no hint of what was to follow.
Pain and guilt clawed at her but then she heard Sean call her name and put the photograph back carefully so it was in its place when he appeared at her door.
“I thought I’d make plenty of noise this time so you couldn’t accuse me of trying to scare you. Something smells good. You weren’t supposed to be cooking. Not that I’m complaining.” He strolled into the kitchen, two bags in his arms. He sent her a lazy, sexy glance that sent her tummy spinning and her pulse pumping.
The suit he’d worn on his mad dash from the hospital had been replaced by a pair of worn jeans and another of Jackson’s shirts. She decided he looked equally good in both.
“This is just an appetizer. You can tell me what you think.”
“I think I’m going to move in here.” He put the bags on the counter and helped himself to the freshly baked grissini. “They look like the ones I ate in Milan. Another experiment?”
“It’s just something simple. I love working with dough.”
“You work too hard.”
“Cooking never feels like work. It clears my head and helps me relax.” And right now, with Sean standing in her kitchen, she needed all the help she could get with that.
He snapped the breadstick, tasted it and gave a moan of masculine appreciation that connected with her insides. “This is better than anything I tasted in Italy.”
“It’s the quality of the ingredients. Local flour and rosemary grown outside your mother’s kitchen window.”
She wasn’t used to seeing a man in her home. In her kitchen. This was her space and she treasured it, protected it and, most important of all, felt safe in it.
Right now she didn’t feel safe at all.
His hair was slick and damp from the shower, his jaw freshly shaven.
Jackson and Sean were identical twins and yet to her there were obvious differences. Sean’s face was a little leaner and he wore his hair shorter. She suspected some might find him a little more intimidating, his smile a little less ready. He was certainly more complicated.