Donovans 01 - Amber Beach

before you cook it, why not crabs?”
    “Ugh. I’m sorry I asked.”
    “Supermarket predator, huh?”
    “Devoutly.”
    He smiled. “Have any plates?”
    “I’ll get them.”
    “Where do you want me to put the Chapman?” he asked.
    Honor glanced at the big, open book that covered half of the table. “It would make a heck of a tablecloth.”
    “It makes a better reference. It’s saved my butt more than once. Besides, this table doesn’t need protecting. Look at those scars. It’s been through wars you’ve never even heard of.”
    She glanced from Jake’s scarred eyebrow to the scar on his lip that was almost hidden beneath his mustache. “Like you?”
    He gave her a sideways look and wondered if Archer had called his sister again and started comparing notes on her “fishing guide.” Kyle had always called him Jay rather than Jake, but that was no guarantee that Archer wouldn’t put the two names together and come up with one J. Jacob Mallory.
    Ellen’s deadline was bad enough, but he might be able to talk her into an extension, especially if he was getting closer to the truth about Kyle. The instant Honor knew what Jake was after, the game was over. He had to make sure Honor didn’t find out the truth too soon. Despite the female interest in her eyes when she watched him, he had no doubt that she would slam the door in his face as soon as she found out what he really wanted.
    Without seeming to, Jake watched Honor pick up the big reference book and put it on the kitchen counter. He liked the way she moved, no hurry, no fuss, no fluttering. He liked the way she looked when she stripped off the man-sized sweatshirt. The blue-green knit top fit over her like a hungry man’s hands. The curve of her black jeans told him what he had already guessed: with Honor, a man would have a soft landing and a snug, hot fit.
    Damn it, Jake thought angrily, looking away as his body leaped with hunger. Honor turned him on like he was a teenager again, but her last name was Donovan. He had to remember that. The Donovans stuck together and let everyone else go hang.
    “Here,” she said, handing Jake plates and silverware. “Put these on the table while I do the bread.”
    Watching her from the corner of his eyes, he started setting the table. She surprised him by wetting her hands and running them over a loaf of French bread.
    “Do you have some kind of clean fetish,” he asked, “or are you part raccoon?”
    She gave him a blank look.
    “Not many people wash their bread before they eat it,” he pointed out.
    “French bread crust is more crunchy that way.”
    “Washed, huh? Well, that’s a new one.”
    Honor had a feeling that not many things were new to Jake. There was a seasoned look about him that went deeper than the scars and the lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth. It should have warned her away. Instead, it lured her.
    “You’ll need something to crack the crab shell,” he said, looking at the silverware he had put out.
    “Two crab crackers, coming up.” She began sorting through a drawer of kitchen tools. “I hope.”
    “I can get by without one. Dungeness shells aren’t that hard. Red rock crabs are different. You have to take a hammer to them to get the meat.”
    “I’m sure Kyle has something in this rat’s nest. He loves crab as much as I do.”
    Jake’s mouth flattened at being reminded of her brother, but all he said was, “I’ll open the wine.”
    “It’s in the freezer.”
    “Of course. Wash the bread and freeze the wine. Why didn’t I think of that?”
    “You’re too conventional?” she retorted.
    “Yeah, that’s it. I’m too conventional.”
    He pulled the wine bottle out of the freezer, peeled off the foil, upended the bottle, and whacked the bottom with the palm of his hand until the cork came halfway out. He pulled it the rest of the way with a quick twist of his fingers.
    Honor stared. “I suppose you catch bullets in your teeth, too.”
    “I don’t catch any bullets I can avoid.”
    “Could you teach me to?”
    “Avoid bullets?” He looked at her, startled.
    “Open a bottle of wine without benefit of corkscrew,” she said with exaggerated patience.
    “Why? It’s easier with a corkscrew. I just didn’t know where one was.”
    “I’d like to see Kyle’s jaw drop. Archer’s, too. Maybe even the Donovan himself.”
    “Who?”
    “Dad,” she said, handing Jake an empty wineglass.
    “Sounds like you come from quite a family.”
    “Quite a