Taking Home the Tycoon (Texas Cattleman's Club: Blackmail 9)
“Sausage, please,” Colby said, his wide eyes hesitant as if choosing differently from his sister would cause trouble.
And in that moment, Max’s gut clenched. Sure it was just bacon and sausage. An easy enough request to fill. Nothing like the tougher stuff of dealing with children—the more intense needs they deserved to have met by responsible adults in their lives.
So he would stick to food, because the Valentine family in this simple B and B was far from simple at all.
* * *
Panicked, Natalie rushed into the kitchen, swiping perspiration from her forehead.
It was just past noon, and she didn’t know where the morning had gone. So much had to be done, and one of her guests had let her know that Max was starting lunch for her kids. Embarrassment burned her cheeks as she saw the array of cooking supplies Max had gathered.
He didn’t have to do that. Shouldn’t have to. Damn it, but she was coming apart at the seams trying to manage everything. And that no doubt showed in her appearance.
Her hair was tucked up into a messy bun she would have liked to call chic. Ha. Were snug jeans sexy when they were tight? Because the ones of hers that fit were all dirty. She’d dug these out of the back of her closet, a pair from prebaby days, along with a simple V-neck T-shirt tight around her breasts.
Yet he made low-slung jeans and a soft T-shirt look...yum.
Swiping back a loose lock of hair, she drew in a steadying breath. “I can’t believe I worked into lunchtime.”
Natalie opened the back door and called to Miss Molly with the proper commands and gestures, sending her into the fenced area of the yard where guests weren’t allowed. “I’m so embarrassed and so sorry to have imposed on you.” She clasped her daughter by the shoulder and touched her son lightly on the hand, just a fingertip brush. “Let’s have some soup and PBJs.”
Her daughter’s bottom lip quivered. “Want Mr. Max make pancakes.”
“Lexie—” Natalie began.
“Natalie, really,” Max interrupted. “It’s no big deal. Either I can cook for myself here or I’ll have to go out to eat, which will take longer. So, free pancakes for me in exchange for my work?”
He was being nice in making this face-saving excuse, but still... She shook her head. “They’re children, my kids.”
“Kids?” He raised an eyebrow, egg in hand hovering over the bowl. “Are you insinuating I can’t handle feeding young palates?”
Damn, he was charming. No wonder he’d taken the business world by storm, amassing a fortune beyond anything she could comprehend.
Rich or not, though, that didn’t make him the boss of her domain.
She stood her ground. “I’m saying thank you, but I’m not your responsibility. I’ll even cook the pancakes and you can have some, since you’re a guest—”
Colby pulled her hand. He so rarely touched her any contact instantly stopped her cold. “Mom, please. Color with me. He can cook.”
And oh, God, that tugged at her heart with memories of family meals with Jeremy. She needed to separate the past from the present. And in this present her son’s needs and wants came first.
It was just pancakes. And a coloring page. If it made her children happy... “Okay, Max, if you’re really sure you don’t mind.”
The familiar roguish smile returned to his face, sparking him to movement. With a bold flourish, he grabbed a towel, wrapped it around his waist and winked at her. “I don’t mind at all. I enjoy cooking, and I travel so much I don’t get to do it nearly often enough.”
Instantly, the dance from last night rushed back into her mind. How close they’d been. How easily they’d kissed.
Oh, that kiss.
Her knees went a little wobbly and she held on to the table’s edge as she sat with her children while Max began cooking. The sound of eggs beating and the soft hum of the oven filled the kitchen, mingling with the sound of colored pencils touching down on paper.
Colby had a blue pencil in his hand and he carefully colored in a large fish—his obsession. Natalie picked up a green pencil and joined her son in coloring, half watching Max move about her kitchen with a smooth efficiency and confidence.
Did the children remember the old days when their father had been home, in the kitchen with them? He hadn’t been much for cooking, but he’d played with the kids while she prepared meals. Her gaze skated back to Max.
He managed multiple pans at once. Bacon. Sausages. Pancakes and even crepes in another. He’d grabbed the leftover caramel and apples from this morning’s pastries. He caught her eye and mouthed “crepes for the lady” with a wink in her direction that sent a tingle of awareness along her skin, prickling in her breasts.
She couldn’t help it. She smiled. Although she quickly tucked her head to color and tried to hide how far that smile reached, deep inside her. The smells of fresh food—food she didn’t have to prepare—felt good. Damn good. This whole moment did and all because of Max.