If You Know Her: A Novel of Romantic Suspense

sex a few times—doesn’t mean you get to dictate to me about my health. And I already
know
this. Now are you making us food or what?”
    “Making food.” He dipped his head and pressed his mouth to hers. “And I’m not trying to dictate. I can’thelp that I’m already stupid with how much I think about you. That’s your fault.”
    “Is not.” She scowled at him.
    “Yeah, it is. Has to be. Haven’t ever had anybody else tangle up my head the way you do. So that means it’s your fault.” He nipped her lower lip and moved away, heading back to the fridge. “Now be a good girl and I’ll make us some lunch.”
    “A good girl,” she echoed, chuckling. Then she sighed. “What the hell. I’m hungry, anyway. Didn’t get much in the way of breakfast.”
    “Hard to get a decent breakfast staying at a hotel. And eating at the café every day will get old,” he said, rooting around for the bacon he’d picked up, some tomatoes. He could cook well enough but he hadn’t exactly planned on company—the most he could do was BLTs and some soup. Hopefully that would work.
    If she came back, though, Lena had taught him a few easy things that just might wow a woman. He found himself thinking about making Nia dinner—candlelight. Wine. Yeah, he liked that idea. Liked it a lot.
    “… at the hotel now.”
    “Huh?” He glanced up, realized she’d been talking and he’d been off in his own world. That wasn’t anything new, but it wasn’t like Nia was used to that. Frowning, he dumped the stuff he held onto the counter and said, “Sorry. Got to thinking about something else, didn’t hear you.”
    She lifted a brow and although she didn’t say anything, he could tell she was a little put off.
    “I wasn’t ignoring you,” he said, trying to keep the defensive tone out of his voice. “I was just …”
    “I didn’t say anything,” she said, her voice cool.
    “I know, I was just …” He felt the slow creep of red climbing up his neck and realized with no small amount of humiliation that he was blushing. Ah, hell. Turningaround, he started rooting through the cabinets even though it didn’t take five seconds to find what he needed, not with Hope’s meticulous organization. “I … ah, well, all I plan on doing is soup and sandwiches. My mind kind of wanders, and I got to thinking about making you dinner one night. If you’d want to come back out, that is. Started thinking about … I dunno, a date.”
    As soon as the words left his mouth, he felt like the world’s biggest jackass.
    Shit. Grabbing a can of soup, he slammed the cabinet door with a little more force than needed.
    “A date, huh?”
    Her voice came from just an inch or two away.
    Turning around, he leaned against the counter and tried to pretend he was a lot more relaxed than he felt. “Yeah. You know, if you wanted.”
    She’d slipped off the stool and stood close, too close. She was smiling, he realized. A soft smile that hit him straight in the gut, straight in the heart.
    “A date … where you make me dinner.”
    He glanced off past her shoulder, jerked a shoulder in a shrug. “Yeah. I’m no Emeril or anything, but I can cook okay. Lena … ah, Ezra’s wife? She’s a pretty good friend of mine and she’s a chef, taught me a thing or two after she figured out about all I could do was macaroni out of a box and …”
    That was all he managed to get out before she pressed her lips to his.
    It was a quick, easy kiss and then she backed away, leaning against the island and staring at him, still smiling that slow, easy smile.
    “Law, I’ve got to say, that’s probably the sweetest invitation I think I’ve ever had. I’ve never once had a guy offer to make me dinner. Just tell me when—I’m there.”
    Sweet
—his blush only got worse and he turned away, hands feeling too big, his throat dry and tight. Hell, shemade him feel like he was back in high school. Shit, middle school, when he had a crush on the cute teacher’s assistant—some blond bombshell who wore her sweaters just a little bit too tight. Only this was worse. So much worse.
    This wasn’t just hormone-driven, adolescent-crazed lust. He might wish it was, but …
    Clearing his throat, he busied himself with ripping open the bacon. “So what were you saying about the hotel?”
    “I checked out. Some city cop, Kent Jennings, mentioned that there was a bed-and-breakfast not too far from here and the owner sometimes sublets the cabins. By the