Page 35 of Flynn

He looked so good and so damned virile and masculine in his ribbed sweater and black dress pants that she wanted to jump him.

“Are you going to let me in?” The amusement in his deep voice had her stepping back to allow him entry.

“You, okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” She realized how defensive she sounded and shook her head. “I am. What’s that?” She gestured to the paper bag in his hand. “Please don’t tell me it’s soup again.”

“I won’t.” Handing her the bag, he shrugged out of his jacket and hung it up.

“What is it?”

“I suppose you’ll find out shortly. Shall we?” Without waiting for her response, he turned and headed towards the kitchen with her trailing after him. It disturbed her that she had expected him to take her into his arms and greet her with a kiss.

“You don’t have to make it your duty to feed me.” She was grouchy and bad-tempered. Plucking the bag onto the counter, she sat down and stared at him.

“I know.” Sparing her a glance, he went about taking out plates.

“Don’t you have anything better to do?”

“At this precise moment? No.” Opening the bag, he took out several cartons and popped them open to release something savory that stirred her appetite. “Vegetables. I figured your stomach would not be ready for anything too rich or meaty. How was it today?”

“Fine.” Folding her hands on the counter, she watched him efficiently pour the meal.

“Just fine?” Ryleigh withstood the bland gaze with one of her own as he handed her the plate.

“You want a run-down of my entire day?” Picking up the fork, she dug in and realized how hungry she was.

“Why not?” Sitting across from her, he started on his meal.

“That’s not going to happen.”

“Want to hear about mine?” The smile hovering around his sensuous lips had her staring and imagining him using his mouth all over her body. The image was so evocative and accurate that it was as if he was touching her. Tearing her gaze from his face, she gazed down at the grilled vegetables on her plate and scooped some up.

“Ryleigh?”

“What?”

“Would you like to hear about my day?” He stared at her curiously as if he had some idea what was happening inside her head.

“We are not in a relationship.’ She reminded him.

“That doesn’t preclude us from having a conversation. I would like to hear about your day.”

“That’s too bad.”

He trained his inscrutable amber eyes on her, and she had to force herself not to fidget.

“What’s wrong?” he finally asked her in his quiet, deep, assuring voice.

“Nothing,” she muttered.

He simply waited her out, a trait he must have mastered for years because it worked.

“Will you stop looking at me like that?”

“Like what?”

Pushing the plate away, she jumped to her feet restlessly and started pacing.