Mal pinched the bridge of her nose and shook her head. “You are impossible.”
“But you like me,” he said pointedly, using a spoon for emphasis.
“Debatable,” she replied with a shrug.
His frown made her grin again.
“Fine, rephrasing the question. Favorite kind of music? And don’t tell me you don’t like music, I saw you dancing around in here.”
Again came the quirked brow. “I know how to dance, Miss Hudson, and what you may have witnessed in here does not constitute dancing.”
She held up her hands in surrender. “Sorry, excuse me.”
He snorted. “Honestly? I probably like this stuff best.” He gestured at the speakers. “I’m an old soul, I guess. Jazz has always been a favorite. In fact, there’s a jazz night for the resort guests and locals tomorrow night down at the pavilion. I was thinking about going.” He gave her a questioning look. “You like jazz?”
Mal chewed on her lip for a moment, watching him with a smile on her lips and somewhere in the middle of her chest. “Yeah,” she said softly. “I like jazz. I’ll go with you.”
He fought a grin and pretended to be casual. “I don’t remember asking.”
“Tough,” she said simply.
He stared at her for a moment, then shook his head. “You are something else, you know that?”
She smiled. “So are you.”
The moment, whatever it was, hung between them for a time, suspended in the air and coursing through them and swirling around them. Something unspeakable and fantastic and perfect and completely overwhelming. How was it possible that this crazy good-looking, intense, funny, charming man was available for her picking?
Or for anyone’s at all?
She was suddenly breathless with the giddiness of how lucky she was.
A hissing sound behind her made Mal turn in surprise. Hunter was at the stove in three strides, picking up the pot and letting the boiling water and noodles settle before returning it to the burner.
He gave her a scolding look. “You are ruining lunch. Stop distracting me and go over there.”
Mal laughed and scooted away from him. “I’ll just go into the great room and sit by the fire. Okay if we eat out there?”
“Baby, I’d let you eat anything anywhere in this house, so long as I was with you,” he told her without any hint of irony or fawning.
Mal’s eyes widened, and she cleared her throat. “Right. I thought we talked about toning that down.”
“How many Mississippis will that take to settle?” he asked with a crooked grin.
Again, she cleared her throat. “About seven.”
He nodded. “Awesome. Getting better.”
She rolled her eyes and pushed the kitchen door open. “Only you would see that as a challenge.”
“Blankets are in the ottoman,” he called. “And save me a seat. Next to you.”
She turned back and poked her head in. “I thought I was supposed to be warming up and taking a nap.”
His slow, smoldering grin made her legs ache. “You are. I’m helping.”
“Shasta!” Mal exclaimed as she straightened and put a hand over her eyes.
Hunter chuckled. “Come on, Mal, I’m playing. I’ll tuck you in and hold you tight, and you can ask me anything you want. I’ll tell you my whole life story, if you want—beginning to end. Funny stories, twenty questions, truth or dare, whatever strikes your fancy.”