Playing to Win

kitchen, something that had never happened here before. She looked—cute. Domestic. Comfortable. He sure as hell never had a woman come over and cook for him. He hadn’t been lying when he’d told her he didn’t invite people over to his place. It was too personal. If he spent the night with a woman, it was at her place, or at a hotel. There were no sleepovers here, no fixing breakfast in the morning together, no spending the day together. That had always seemed too close to a relationship and he steered clear of those. Building his career was enough of a full-time job. Dragging a woman into the mess that was his life would be more than he could handle. He wasn’t ready.
    Though he sure seemed to be doing a lot of relationship-type things with Savannah. Going out for dinner. Having her over to his parents’ house. Dancing with her at his cousin’s wedding. Then again, maybe all those things were coincidence—just the nature of her job and the fact they always seemed to end up together lately.
    And relationships were things he sure as hell didn’t want to be thinking about right now. Or ever. Time to focus on food, work, and keeping his priorities straight.
    Once the fire was hot enough, he went inside.
    Savannah was conducting a symphony. Music played on her iPod. She was dancing as she moved from one task to another. Pots littered the stove. She was preparing lettuce, slicing strawberries, and boiling something that smelled really good. He stayed still, leaning against the doorway to watch as she hummed along to the music, comfortable in his kitchen.
    There was that word again— comfortable . He waited for his own discomfort to set in. It didn’t.
    She turned around and spotted him. “How long have you been there?”
    “Awhile.”
    She grinned, not at all concerned that he’d been spying on her routine. “I can’t help myself. Being in the kitchen relaxes me.” She handed him the steaks. “Go cook. I like mine medium.”
    “Yes, ma’am.” He got out of her way and did his thing, and let her do hers. By the time he brought the finished steaks in, she had the lobster tail on plates, along with rice and a bed of lettuce for the steaks.
    He gave her the plate and she scooped the steaks onto the lettuce, then poured sauce over them, sprinkled a little cheese and a few strawberries over the top of the meat. He frowned.
    She laid her hand over his. “I know—you like your steak naked. But trust me.” She handed him a plate and they moved to the table.
    She’d already poured wine for both of them, so they sat and he dug into the steak, his first inclination to brush away the stuff on the top of the meat. But he didn’t want to insult her, so he scooped the strawberries and cheese into his mouth along with the steak.
    “Oh, god,” he said after he swallowed. Who knew those flavors would go so well together? “What the hell is this sauce?”
    She took a sip of wine, then smiled. “I told you to trust me. I wouldn’t ruin a great steak. It’s just a balsamic reduction, some blue cheese, and the sweetness of the strawberries bring out the flavor.”
    “It’s really good.” So was the lobster. Perfectly tender, and she’d even provided melted butter. “Can you come over every night and cook for me?”
    “I thought you said you cooked.”
    “Eggs. Bacon. Tuna. Burgers. Basic stuff. I’m no gourmet cook like you.”
    Her cheeks darkened pink. “I’m hardly a gourmet cook. I dolike to dabble here and there with different recipes when I have some free time.”
    “You’re very good at it. This is great food.”
    “Thank you.”
    “Where did you learn to cook like this?”
    “Television cooking shows, the Internet, and a lot of practice.”
    He ate everything on his plate, and what was left on Savannah’s that she didn’t finish. After that he did the dishes, since she’d done most of the work on the cooking, though he wasn’t able to kick her out of his kitchen. She stood by and helped him load the dishwasher, and when she wasn’t doing that she was cleaning off the stove, counter, and table and putting things away, despite his suggestion that she take her glass of wine and sit down.
    “Don’t you ever relax?” he asked as he dried his hands on the dish towel.
    “This is relaxing for me. It’s what I do after a long day. I cook. I clean up.”
    He shook his head. “This is work.”
    She laughed. “Not to me it isn’t. I travel so much that most of the time I eat restaurant