Genuine Lies

that infuriated rather than stirred. “I can’t resist.”
    “Try harder,” she suggested, and nudged him aside.
    “I thought about that.” There was a bowl of plump green grapes on the counter. He plucked one and popped it into his mouth. It wasn’t the taste he wanted, but it would do. For now. “Trouble is, I like giving into impulse. You have such pretty feet.”
    With a cookie sheet in one hand she turned to stare at him. “What?”
    “Whenever I stop by unexpectedly, you’re barefoot.” He leered at her feet. “I had no idea that naked toes could be arousing.”
    She didn’t mean to laugh—certainly didn’t want to. But it bubbled out. “If it’ll help things, I’ll start wearing thick socks and heavy shoes.”
    “Too late now.” She began to grease the sheet in deft, housewifely moves he found incredibly seductive. “I’d only fantasize about what’s underneath. Are you going to tell me what you’re making?”
    “Pizza.”
    “I thought that came frozen or in a cardboard box.” “Not around here.”
    “If I promise not to nibble on your very attractive toes, will you ask me to lunch?”
    She considered, weighing the pros and cons as she preheated the oven, then sprinkled flour on a wooden board. “I’ll ask you to lunch if you agree to answer a few questions honestly.”
    He sniffed the sauce again, then gave in to temptation and sampled a bit from the wooden spoon. “Done. Do we get pepperoni?”
    “All that and more.”
    “I don’t suppose you’d have a beer.”
    She began to knead the dough, and he lost track of the question. Though her fingers were deft as a grandmother’s, they didn’t make him think of sturdy old women, but of clever young ones who knew where to touch, and how. She said something, but it passed through his brain without comprehension. It had started as a joke, but now he couldn’t quite understand how watching her perform some ancient female ritual could make his mouth dry.
    “Did you change your mind?”
    He brought his eyes from her hands to her face. “What?” “I said CeeCee stocked a lot of cold drinks in the fridge. I’m pretty sure there’s a beer.”
    “Right.” After clearing his throat, he opened the refrigerator. “Do you want one?”
    “Hmm. No. Something soft maybe.”
    He took out a bottle of Coors and a bottle of Pepsi. “Hooking up any interviews?”
    “Here and there. I talk regularly with Eve, of course. And I’ve spoken with Nina, bounced a few questions off Fritz.”
    “Ah, Fritz.” Paul took a quick chug. “The Viking god of health. What’d you think?”
    “I thought he was sweet, dedicated, and gorgeous.”
    “Gorgeous?” Brows knit, he lowered the bottle again. “Christ, he’s built like a freight train. Do women really find all those hulking muscles appealing?”
    She couldn’t resist. Turning back to him briefly, she smiled. “Honey, we love being taken by a strong man.”
    He drank again, scowling a bit, and resisted the urge to test his biceps. “Who else?”
    “Who else what?”
    “Who else have you talked to?”
    Pleased with his reaction, she went back to work. “I have a few appointments next week. Most of the people I’ve been able to contact are being very cooperative.” She smiled to herself as she spread the dough. “I think they’re banking on pumping me for information rather than vice versa.”
    That was exactly what he was doing—rather, what he’d intended to do before she’d distracted him. “And how much will you tell them?”
    “Nothing they don’t already know. I’m writing Eve Benedict’s biography, with her authorization.” It was easier now, Julia realized, since they were over the awkward hump of what had happened between them. With her hands busy and children upstairs, she felt her confidence return. “Maybe you could tell me a little about some of the people I’ll be seeing.”
    “Such as?”
    “Drake Morrison’s first on my list for Monday morning.” Paul took a another swig of beer. “Eve’s nephew—only nephew. Her older sister had the one child, two stillbornchildren after, then took up religion in a big way. Eve’s younger sister never married.”
    The information dissatisfied. “Drake’s her only blood relative. That’s public stuff.”
    He waited until she’d finished patting the dough into place and ladled on the sauce. “Ambitious, personable. Drawn to slick clothes, cars, and women. In that order, I’d say.”
    Lifting a brow, she