Meet Cute, Elise Faber [audio ebook reader .TXT] 📗

beneath the cooktop. Since I didn’t back up, I had the great benefit of feeling her ass brush against me.

No, not me.

Against my cock, which instantly hardened. Once had definitely not been enough.

Her eyes met mine over her shoulder.

Short of seeing her naked, it might have been the sexiest thing I’d ever seen, those hazel eyes hooded, the pupils dilated. “You have chef fantasies?”

“I have you fantasies.” My hands dropped to her hips. “And I don’t know what they say about other officers, but I’m just kidding. You’re the furthest thing from mercenary there is.”

A flicker across her eyes, and she straightened.

“What?”

“Do you like chicken?” she asked, setting the pan on the burner. Then she laughed. “Of course, you like it. It was in your fridge.” She side-stepped, causing my hands to drop, as she began opening and closing cabinets. “Where do you keep cutting boards in this joint?”

“Tammy.”

“Ah,” she said, opening one more and then pulling out a plastic surface to cut on. “There they are. This is just what I needed.” Another smile over her shoulder, though this one was so fake that it almost hurt to look at. “You ready for my world-famous, or well, my inside-my-own-house famous chicken parmesan? It’s delicious.”

I stepped closer, dropped one hand on either side of her, trapping her between my body and the counter. “I’m sure it is,” I murmured. “But I’m more worried about what put that look on your face.”

Her spine was perfectly straight, a rigid line that gave steel poles a run for their money. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She set down the cutting board. “I hope you’re hungry,” she blathered, words a mile a minute, “because maybe I’ll make cookies after this. It’s been ages, and I took another pain pill and look!” Tammy lifted her arm over her head. “I can do this. Isn’t that amazing?”

“Amazing,” I agreed, snagging her wrist and drawing her arm back down, lest she accidentally hurt herself in her avoidance. “Tam—”

She crumpled, that spine curving, a pole bent over after a collision with a car, that strong material damaged and warped, and I knew that I couldn’t push this. If she wanted to be cheerful and cook and pretend nothing had just flitted across her face, I’d let her—

Fuck, that sounded egotistical.

But my point was I didn’t have any hold over her, she wasn’t beholden to my whims, didn’t owe me an explanation.

In truth, I had all the owing locked down firmly in my corner

“I love chicken parmesan,” I said, stroking my fingers down the back of her neck. “What can I do to help?”

That spine straightening, her body slowly shifting around to face me, and this time, the flash I could decipher in her eyes wasn’t old pain, wasn’t something dark and barbed. Instead, it was . . . gentle.

She brushed her fingers over my jaw, and every single time she did that, every time she initiated contact, my heart skipped a beat. Her lips parted, a breath sliding out, coating my skin, and then she murmured, “Those beers would be really nice.”

“How about a soda since you’re on drugs?”

She made a face, but then she smiled at me, warmth shining out of her eyes like the sun bright overhead on a summer’s night.

Heart thumping against my ribs—the woman was full of powerful magic—I stepped back, went to the fridge hidden in the island, the one where all my wine and beer was stored, pulled out two cans of soda, and popped the tops. I plunked one next to her then hoisted myself up on the counter, watching as Tammy scavenged through my cabinets, muttering to herself the whole time.

With lithe curves and about six inches shorter than me, she was temptation personified, and I found myself watching her lips move as she spoke quietly to herself, the line of her throat exposed and calling for my kiss. I’d checked on her stitches earlier, and they were carefully wrapped in another bandage, but I believed her about the wound not hurting, or at least not very much. Even without the pain pills, she was a tough chick, not complaining at all during the day as we’d planned things out with Maggie, but as the hours had passed, I’d seen the signs, was glad that Mags had, too.

Our friend had pleaded traffic and needing to get home to her fiancé, but I hadn’t missed the fact that she’d located Tammy’s prescription and placed the bottle on the table before she’d left.

Luckily, the gesture had worked.

Tammy had taken the pills, and now I didn’t have to worry about shoving one down her throat. That pleasant image—not—aside, I was glad she wasn’t hurting and was going to leave it at that.

“Tammy?” I asked, swinging my feet back and forth.

“What’s up?” she said, sprinkling herbs onto the chicken.

“Where you’d learn to cook?”

Her eyes came to mine. “How do you mean?” she asked, slicing into some tomatoes and then dropping them into a pot of boiling water.

“I mean,” I said, reaching for a piece of carrot as she moved onto a fresh cutting board, prepping ingredients for a salad. “How did you learn to cook? My skills come from culinary boot camp before a movie.” I smiled when she glanced up at me, surprise on her face. “I’m guessing yours didn’t come via the same.”

“Not so much,” she said, chopping a cucumber. “Mine came via necessity.”

I lifted my brows.

She glanced down at the board, was quiet for so long that I expected her to not answer. Then, surprisingly, she did. “My dad raised my brother and me for most of our lives.” Her face did that thing, the twisting, barbs hidden beneath the surface thing. I’d seen it twice now, and I already decided that it was the most awful thing I’d ever seen.

“So, it was a matter of survival then?”

Her lips twitched. “In a manner of speaking,” she said. “What did you eat before you went to chef school?”

“Ramen noodles,” I