The Chocolate Seduction. Carrie Alexander
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now?” she said, catching his eye.
“Were you ever a dancer?”
Her eyes danced while the rest of her went still. “Are you telling me I look anorexic?”
“No. But you could use some fattening up.”
Mackenzie sat back on her heels. “Sabrina’s the ectomorph of the family.” She swiped the heel of a rubber-gloved hand over her brow. “I’ve learned to accept that.”
“Ah, but you’re sisters—both attractive, in your own way.” Kit reached for the broom. “It’s just my cooking gene showing. You have an instinct to nest, Sabrina has one to roam, and I want to stock and furnish this sad excuse for a kitchen.”
Having emptied the suitcase, Sabrina zipped it shut and trundled it into the closet. “I can’t get used to being around all these men who cook,” she said from inside the door. “If only the average husband knew how attractive their wives would find them if they put on an apron now and again.” She poked her head out and winked at Kit. “Tell me, do you have groupies, huh?”
He batted her gorgeous backside with the broom. “Only you.”
“That’s what you think,” she said with an airy laugh. “Actually, I’m only interested in the chocolate.”
He raised a wicked eyebrow. “Hmm. Is that so?”
She blushed. Must have remembered previously admitting to her sweet tooth deficiency. “It is. Now that I’m in restaurant management, I have to develop my taste buds.”
“I’ll cook for you anytime.” He hadn’t meant for his voice to lower, but it had, making the offer more suggestive than friendly. Sabrina swayed toward him, her eyes liquid and alive.
Mackenzie gave a discreet cough.
Sabrina was quick to back off, blinking. “That won’t be necessary, thanks. The super told me there’s a Korean grocery around the corner. I’ll go later and pick up a few staples.”
“There’s always the fudge,” Mackenzie said. “A piece a day keeps the testosterone away.”
“What does that mean?” Kit asked, sensing an undercurrent between the sisters. They were up to something.
“Oh, nothing you’d want to know about, Chocomeister.” Sabrina’s voice was too innocent. “Wowza,” she said, “there’s a giant spider web in here. With mummified remains and all. Give me that broom.” She held out an open hand, her long fingers motioning to him from around the closet door.
Kit came up behind her. “Aren’t you afraid of spiders?”
“Not at all. I’ve lived in too many hovels to squeal over every creepy-crawly creature that appears.” She lay her hand on his forearm. The hair on it prickled even after she’d released him, muttering a throaty “Sorry.”
He slid in beside her, making as if he was examining the web, but actually consumed with the sweep of her hair over his arm, the warmth of her body so close to his. The sound of her breathing filled the closet. Was it short? Was it shallow? Was she as aware of him as he was of her?
“Do you have a paper?” he croaked.
“Umm.” Sabrina left the closet, but was back in an instant, handing him a white square. “A paper towel.”
He took it, angling toward the spider web. She leaned with him, her arm resting across his shoulders. “What are you doing?” she whispered. “Just kill it. Stomp it.”
He touched the paper towel to the web, coaxing the fat spider onto it. “Out of my way.”
Sabrina nimbly stepped aside. He carried the paper towel to the open window, turning it over as the spider crawled along the edge toward his fingers. He shook the towel outside, over the fire escape. “Go, little spider. You’ve been set free.”
“Free to build a new web on my fire escape,” Sabrina said, elbows propped up on the sill beside him. A touch of a breeze fingered through her hair, blowing strands of it across his face. She drew it back behind her ears in the way that women did, making a ponytail. The neck of her top gaped a little, displaying her collarbone and the shadowed hollow between her breasts. He imagined touching her there, with his fingertips. Tasting her, with his lips.
Her mouth curved. “So…the mystery man reveals a soft heart.”
“I’m no mystery man.”
Her eyes engaged his. “And your heart?”
“Give it a little time,” he said. “Maybe you’ll find out.”
AN HOUR LATER, the three of them sat in a row on the thin futon, looking at the apartment, freshly cleaned but still sadly bleak. Mackenzie and Kit had stretched out their legs. Sabrina’s knees were drawn up to use as a desk. She was making a list on the back of a dry cleaner’s receipt.
“Pillows,” Mackenzie said.
“Pots and pans,” said Kit.
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