Julian released her elbow. “You have company, son.”
DeMarcus’s contented expression tensed when he saw Jaclyn. “What are you doing here?”
Julian sighed. “We now know why they didn’t nickname you the Charming Guinn. I’ve asked her to stay for dinner.” With that pronouncement, his father left them alone.
Jaclyn surveyed the large, octagonal kitchen hoping to distract the nerves bouncing in her belly. Stainless steel appliances stood on white counters. The walls, cupboards and shelving also were white. The wide gold trim separating the walls from the ceiling was a warm hug in the cool room.
She shifted her weight from one leg to the other. “I’m sorry to interrupt your dinner with your father. It’s nice that the two of you get together to share a meal.”
DeMarcus gave her a curious look. His black gaze bore into her. “It’s not that hard. We live together.”
“Oh. That’s nice.” The Mighty Guinn lived with his father. “That’s lovely.”
DeMarcus returned to slicing vegetables. His long, brown fingers braced the red pepper with a firm but delicate touch. “I moved in after I retired from basketball.”
That was the season after his mother passed away. Jaclyn’s nerves settled and her heart softened. Who’d been in more need of the other’s company, father or son? Probably both, but it didn’t matter. What mattered was that DeMarcus had cared enough to come home.
“There’s more than enough room for the two of you.” Jaclyn watched DeMarcus slide the red pepper slices from the chop block to the salad bowl. There was something intensely sexy about a man who knew what he was doing in the
kitchen. “I moved back in with my grandfather after I finished law school.”
DeMarcus glanced over his shoulder. “Franklin Jones was a remarkable man.”
“Yes, he was.” Like Julian’s home, her grandfather’s house was large enough to give each of them privacy, but they’d enjoyed each other’s company. Now that he was gone, his mansion was too large. She felt lost in all of that space. But, somehow, she felt at home in the Empire.
DeMarcus sprayed fat-free oil into a pan and adjusted the heat to low. His muscles flowed across his back and shoulders as he sautéed the vegetables. His silence was disconcerting. Jaclyn laid her hands flat against her cream skirt to keep from wringing them.
Her gaze swept the room’s perimeter with its multitude of white cabinets, shelves and counter space. The rainbow of Tupperware sitting on the shelves added whimsy to the otherwise staid room. “Your kitchen is spotless.”
He didn’t turn around. “It should be. We prepare food in here.”
“What are you making?”
DeMarcus turned up the heat under a nearby pot. “Curried chicken, couscous, chickpeas and salad.”
Jaclyn blinked. Her gaze moved over his lean, six-foot-seven-inch frame clothed in a long-sleeve, green and blue Miami Waves jersey and black warm-up pants. His large, dark feet were bare. The image of the Mighty Guinn heating a can of soup was odd. The idea of his cooking an exotic meal stretched the bounds of credulity. It also was a reminder never to judge a book by its cover—or an athlete by his image. “Sounds delicious.”
DeMarcus moved to the range and lifted the lid from the skillet. Mouth-watering fragrances exploded into the kitchen—curry, cumin, paprika and more. “Did you get my message?” He checked the stewing chicken, adding the sautéed vegetables, before resetting the lid.
“Yes, I did. Thank you.” Jaclyn wandered farther into the kitchen, her low-heeled, cream suede pumps tapped against the small, gold and white square tiles that patterned the floor.
DeMarcus glanced at her over a broad shoulder. His expression wasn’t readable. “Are you here to gloat?”
Jaclyn’s stomach was jumping. Her heart did a pick-and-roll in her throat. Sheer willpower restrained her from twisting her fingers together. “I’m here to ask you to reconsider your resignation.”
DeMarcus’s eyes widened. His lips parted. “Yesterday you stormed my office demanding my resignation.”
“And, today, I realized I made a mistake.”
DeMarcus stirred the couscous, then turned up the heat under the chickpeas. “When I wanted to stay, you told me to leave. Now that I’ve left, you want me to stay. Lady, you need to get your head together.”
Jaclyn appealed to his back. “I thought you were working with Gerry and Bert to ruin the team.”
“You should have asked me. I would have told you you were wrong.” DeMarcus checked the chicken again.
“You’re right. I’m sorry. I jumped to conclusions. But the fact you chose to resign rather than go along with their plan means you’re committed to winning. I need someone with that level of commitment.”
DeMarcus covered the chicken, lowered the temperature and checked the time. “What level of commitment do you have?”