“Is that why she’s now your ex-roommate?”
“No. She’s my ex-roommate because she fell in love.”
“Ah. True Love’s Kiss?”
“I think it was closer to True Love’s Steaming Hot Sex, but same principle.”
“So now you live alone?”
“Yes.” Her expression changed and then she tugged open the door of the refrigerator and looked inside, so he could no longer see her face. “Although not exactly alone, because my other friend lives upstairs with Paige’s brother, Matt— he owns the whole brownstone—and downstairs is Roxy and her little girl, Mia, who is adorable. Roxy works for Matt and she found herself homeless back in the summer so he gave her a place to stay. Paige seems to spend almost as much time at our place as she does with Jake, so it’s not exactly quiet. And then there’s Claws.” She talked without pausing for breath, painting a picture of her life. He’d expected a one-word answer, but by the time she stopped he knew more about her than he did about people he’d known for a decade. It took months of close questioning to get that quantity of information from most people.
“So Claws is your friend’s psychotic cat?”
“Yes. You could put her in one of your books. She’d be a great murder weapon. She has a sweet face and a psychotic personality, but I don’t blame her because she had a horrible life before Matt rescued her.” She selected various items from the refrigerator and in the moment before she closed the door he caught a glimpse of color layered upon color.
“Are you planning on entertaining? Because if that’s all intended for me I think you might have overestimated my appetite.”
“It’s going in the freezer. The idea was that you could have access to the perfect meal whenever you need one. I discussed the menu with your grandmother.”
“You were discussing menus designed to help my libido?”
Her eyebrows lifted. “Food allergies,” she said slowly. “Some people are allergic to peanuts, or wheat or shellfish. I needed to know if you were gluten-free or vegetarian. If you’re likely to go into anaphylactic shock if I feed you nuts, that’s something I need to know. Jabbing adrenaline into a half-dead client isn’t generally one of the complimentary extras we like to offer at Urban Genie. Prevention is better than cure and all that. Dead people are bad for business.” She gave a half smile. “Except for in your business, of course. Your business is all about dead people.”
“So you weren’t discussing how to seduce me with my grandmother?”
“I love your grandmother, but if I want to seduce a guy I don’t generally take advice from someone in their eighties.” She studied him for a moment. “Does your libido need help?”
Not since he’d met her. “She would go to pretty much any lengths to see me married again,” he said, skirting around the question.
“That may be, but as far as I’m concerned you’re an adult, presumably capable of making your own choices. If you choose to stay in sexile, that’s really none of my business.”
“Sexile?”
“Sex exile. Sexile. I’m there through no obvious fault of my own, unless you count being picky as a fault.” She frowned slightly. “But you’re there on purpose. You’ve chosen to live in sexile.”
He watched as she rinsed bell peppers. “What did my grandmother tell you about me?”
“I know you hate cucumber, love spicy food and prefer your steak rare. It’s important that I know your preferences.”
Right now his preference would be to have her naked and on top.
Her skin was smooth and creamy, like silk, he thought, and then dismissed the comparison as clichéd. He was a writer. He should be able to come up with something better than that. Her cheeks were flushed but he had a feeling that was the heat of the oven rather than makeup. He would have sworn she wasn’t wearing makeup, but then recalled a conversation with Sallyanne where she’d mocked him for telling her how much he liked her without makeup. She’d told him in a tone loaded with amusement, that achieving the “no makeup” look had taken her forty-five minutes.
He wondered how long it had taken Eva to make herself look that wholesome and innocent.
“Show me the menus.” He held out his hand and she handed ove
r the pages she’d been working from. He scanned them quickly. “Chicken pot pie? I haven’t eaten that since I was twelve.”
“And when you taste mine, you’ll be wondering why. It’s the ultimate comfort food.”
“It reminds me of school.”
“Mine won’t remind you of school. Mine will give your taste buds an orgasm.”
“You seem fixated on orgasms.”
“That’s what happens when you don’t get something.” She took the menus from him. “It’s the reasons diets don’t work. The more you deny yourself, the more you crave the very thing you’re cutting out. And before you say anything, of course I know I can give myself an orgasm, but there are some tasks I prefer to delegate.”