He had no right to do this. No right to think thoughts he had no intention of following with actions.
Jackson’s voice came again, sharper this time, and Tyler stirred. “What? Yeah, I’m still here.” He watched as she reached into the fridge. She was fit and strong, slim and toned, and he knew the fact he was salivating had nothing to do with the meal he was cooking.
“Ty? Are you paying attention?” Jackson’s voice came from the phone, irritated, and he forced himself to concentrate.
“Sort of.” His voice was croaky, and he averted his eyes from the perfect dip and curve that was Brenna’s waist and hips. What had she meant by that comment that he didn’t notice her as a woman? Of course he noticed her. He was working so damn hard not to notice her, it was driving him crazy. “I’m here, unfortunately. I wish I wasn’t because then I wouldn’t be the one cooking dinner....” He listened to the predictable brotherly banter, his gaze sneaking back to linger on Brenna’s smooth arms and the straight column of her spine. He’d seen her wearing less in the summer, but somehow this was different. “What? I don’t think what I’m cooking has a name, but it looks as if something died in the pot. Hopefully, this concoction will ensure I never have to cook again. Élise is training Jess, so there’s hope in my future. That’s providing I have a future, which I may not have once I’ve taken a mouthful of this.” He expected Brenna to leave, but instead she sat down at the table and curved her hands round the glass of juice she’d poured, listening.
Her skin was fresh and smooth, her hair the color of oak. She had the sort of face advertising agencies used to promote shampoos and wholesome soap.
Which made his thoughts all the more inappropriate.
She was his best friend.
And Josh was taking her to dinner.
He jammed the spoon in the pot, reasoning that no amount of savage stirring could ruin something that was already ruined. “Is onion supposed to be black? What?” He listened as Jackson spoke. “I’d rather fix the snowmobile than dinner, that’s for sure.”
“Jackson has a problem with one of the snowmobiles?” Brenna half whispered, half mouthed the words so she didn’t interrupt his conversation. “I could go and help.”
Was she looking for an excuse to escape?
He shook his head, even though he knew she was perfectly capable of fixing whatever was wrong. She knew her way around an engine as well as he did. “Do you see a black wire with a white stripe coming from the stator?” He shifted the phone so that he could talk and carry on stirring, not because he thought it would make any difference to the dinner, but because he couldn’t reach out and grab Brenna with a spoon in his hand. “It’s got a bullet-style connector and sometimes that gets knocked out—yeah, that’s right. Did you have the air box off? Well, then, that’s your problem. Without the wire attached, the sled won’t die when you kill it.”
He talked Jackson through the problem, and by the time he ended the call and put his phone down on the table, he was back in control. “I’ve made dinner. My advice? Order takeout.”
“It smells—interesting.” She stood up and walked across to the stove. “What is it?”
“Mexican. Or perhaps I should call it Mess-ican. It has beans and chili and some other stuff. Some of which burned. Blame Jackson. I was distracted. He called at the difficult part when I was frying.”
She rested her hips against the counter. “The difficult part? Do you ever listen to yourself?”
Right now he couldn’t hear a thing over his brain telling him to kiss her.
“I never listen to myself,” he muttered, “because I have crazy ideas.”
“Tyler, you rescued two kids and skied down a slope with one und
er each arm that ninety percent of the population wouldn’t attempt with both their hands free. And you call this—” she glanced at the food “—difficult?”
“I’d rather ski that slope blindfold than cook dinner.”
“It will be fine.”
“You haven’t tasted it yet.”
“You’re forgetting I’m not much of a cook, either. If the way to a guy’s heart is truly through his stomach, I’m doomed. Whatever you’ve made will be better than what I usually eat.”
Was she interested in Josh’s heart? Or other parts of him?
Tyler groped for his beer and took a big gulp. “So did you speak to Patrick about that incident with the kids?”
“Yes, but he was already freaked out enough without me laying it on. Thanks for helping out. I wanted to thank you yesterday, right after, but you dashed off and then we kept missing each other.”
He’d worked really hard on making sure they kept missing each other. “Anytime.”
“Listen—about the other night and the stuff I said—”
“Forget it.” He glanced up with relief as Jess walked into the room. “Hi, sweetheart. You’re late. Was the bus delayed?”