“My housekeeper offered to make us dinner tonight,” he admitted, running his fingers through his hair. “I told her no, I wanted to cook for you myself. I guess she didn’t have as much faith in my culinary skills as I did, and rightly so.”
“Do you cook much?”
Brody shook his head. “Almost never. Peggy leaves dinner for me every night. But I wanted to impress you, and I figured following a recipe would be easy enough. I can’t take you to an expensive restaurant, so it seemed like a nice touch. Now we’re going to have to order pizza. I don’t have enough stuff left over to make it again.”
Sam smiled and made her way over to the Sub-Zero refrigerator. They wouldn’t be eating pizza if she had anything to say about it. “Don’t give up on us quite yet.”
* * *
Brody was amazed. He knew from working with Sam that she was smart, efficient and innovative. But seeing her at work in his own kitchen was an entirely different matter. She had taken charge of the situation, and he had to admit that it was a huge turn-on. He could only sit back and watch as she kicked off her heels, slipped out of her lace shrug and took his kitchen by storm.
Chris sat down beside him to watch her work, as well. She ran the risk of getting stepped on if she got into Sam’s way. Brody patted her head and sipped his wine, answering questions as he was asked where one thing or another was. He enjoyed watching her work. It was much better in person than watching her from his surveillance monitors. She was full of color, moving with a gracefulness and ease. Occasionally she would look over at him with a smile that was so brilliant it would make it hard to breathe.
It was difficult for him to tear his eyes away from the seam of her stockings that lined the back of her shapely legs and disappeared under her fitted lace skirt. He wanted to interrupt her work to press her against the cold steel of the refrigerator. He wanted to know what it would feel like to let his hands glide over those silk stockings. He wasn’t that hungry, anyway.
Before he could make a move, Sam turned triumphantly toward him with a second, unburned dinner made. She carried two plates to the oval table in the breakfast nook where he was sitting. There were marinated chicken breasts she’d cooked on the grill set into his range and angel hair pasta tossed with olive oil, garlic, herbs and parmesan cheese. With them, she’d paired the green salad and garlic bread he hadn’t ruined from their first menu.
“It looks wonderful,” he said, admiring her hard work and the flush of her cheeks from activity. “I feel bad, though. I invited you to dinner and you ended up cooking.”
Sam smiled and shook her head. “It was fun.”
“You really seemed to be in your element. Do you like to cook?”
At that, Sam laughed. “Actually, no. And to be honest, I’m not really a very good cook, either, so don’t put away the takeout menu yet. But I know enough not to go hungry. It was a necessity when I was younger. My dad became a single father overnight. He was so unprepared for everything that came with it, especially handling mischievous twin boys and the girliest little girl on the planet. He had his hands full and I knew it, so I tried to help out where I could. My dad was a horrible cook. My brothers and I would’ve starved if I hadn’t stepped up and shoved Dad away from the stove.”
Brody recalled the background investigation he’d done on Sam. It said her mother had died when she was seven. He remembered that now. But he knew better than to mention it. Instead, he cut into his chicken and took a bite. “This is great. My mother wasn’t a very good cook. She tried, but it never came out quite right. When she overcooked things my father would get so angry at her.”
And him. And the dog. And anyone else who got in his way when he was in a rage.
“My mom was a great cook. At least that’s what I remember. I was seven when she died. She had been letting me help around the kitchen with little tasks at dinnertime, but I certainly wasn’t prepared to take over. It didn’t stop me, of course. Things had to get done. It might not be the best tasting food or the smoothest ironing job, but I tried. That’s why my dad always called me ‘Daddy’s Little Fixer.’ From a very young age, I’ve had this drive to fix everything.”
“Sounds like a harmless compulsion.”
Sam swallowed her own bite of food and chased it with some wine. He could tell she was trying to cover a frown. He watched as a blond curl came loose from her hair clip and tumbled down along her cheek. Brody wanted to reach out and gently wrap the golden silk around his finger. He imagined it would feel as soft as her lips had.