Bought: One Night, One Marriage. Natalie Anderson
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Cally.’
She batted her lashes. ‘What can I say? Subversive is sometimes the only way.’
‘Subversive,’ he echoed softly. ‘I must bear that in mind.’
Staring up at him, she felt the heat from his gaze far more than the heat from the element that was threatening to burn the soup. Then, of all the ridiculous things, she shivered. Immediately his eyes darkened, and she sensed rather than saw his tiny movement closer and her own minuscule advance in response.
The rattle of the pot lid pulled her back. She turned the gas off quickly, lifted the pot and stepped away from his stifling nearness. Went back to mundane conversation. ‘I make my own stock from scratch. I love the whole process.’
He watched her retreat with that teasing glint now back in his eyes. She knew damn well he knew how he affected her. He must be so used to it. But, man, it was humiliating. She told her backbone to lose the invisibility cloak. Couldn’t she at least try to dish it out as well as him? Couldn’t she tease him in the way he teased her? Meaningless, playful banter?
He stirred the soup in the other pot left on the hob with suspicion. ‘Don’t you ever eat anything else?’
She turned in surprise, then stopped to actually think about it. ‘Not often, no.’
‘You just live on soup?’
‘Well, I have a smoothie for breakfast, then, yeah, soup for lunch and dinner. I’m usually in a hurry and just grab some from the shop. It’s good to taste it—now that it’s produced on a bigger scale I need to make sure none of the quality is lost.’
‘Don’t you ever want to chew on something? You don’t get bored?’
‘No.’
‘Hmm.’ He seemed to ponder for a moment. ‘You know, I like something I can really get hold of. Something with some texture, some bite.’ He looked back at her with wicked eyes again. She knew he was flirting, dangerously close to being bold. Well, she could handle that—couldn’t she?
‘Is that so?’ She sent him a look from under her lashes, laughing inside at her pathetic attempt to inject cool into her voice. Then she turned to the fridge and opened the vegetable drawer that was always bursting with fresh produce.
The cucumber was thick and long and she weighed it with her hand, fingers curling tight around its girth as she turned back to him. She saw the sparkle in his eye and she gave him a bland smile back. The she picked up the biggest knife in her collection—not one she’d usually use on a hapless vegetable, but, in this instance, a point needed to be made. With quick, precise movements, she stripped its skin. She glanced back up to him. He’d stepped to the other side of her bench and was watching, the corners of his mouth twitching. She looked back down, slightly disconcerted, and got on with her dissection. Mr Cucumber could get a load of this.
For a few minutes the only sound was the bang, bang, bang as the blade hit the board. She worked swiftly, efficiently, until there was only a pile of pulp.
‘So, let’s see, you’ve skinned, deseeded and sliced that cucumber till it’s barely recognisable.’
‘Sure.’ She had the cool tone down pat this time. ‘I think we can safely say it’s dead. Now it’s ready to be eaten.’
‘Only now that you’ve stripped it of its life force?’
‘That’s right.’ She went back to the fridge and got the container of thick yoghurt. Spooned some into a dish, mixed it in with the cucumber and added seasonings.
‘There are a couple to choose from, but I think you should try the spicy sausage.’ She spoke over her shoulder as she spooned the steaming soup into a bowl. ‘I think you’ll find it has plenty of texture and bite. You may even need some of the yoghurt dip to take the edge off.’
‘The one with the cucumber? Because, let’s face it, without the cucumber, that dip would be nothing.’ He grinned then. It widened into a full-blown smile and laughter followed. Warm, rich, irresistible laughter. Suddenly, effortlessly, Cally found laughter bubbling out too.
‘You’re not all you seem, Cally,’ he teased as their humour dimmed.
‘In what way?’
‘There’s a little more to you than I expected.’
‘What did you expect?’
‘As little as you expected from me, I think.’
She looked up quickly, only to be caught again by his gaze.
‘Not just a pretty face,’ he murmured.
She got back to fussing with the bowls pronto. He wasn’t talking about her. She wasn’t a pretty face at all; she was plain and ordinary. And his face wasn’t pretty either; it was beautiful. ‘Never go out with a man who is better looking than you’—that was her motto. She just had to remember to stick to it.
‘You mind eating in here? The formal dining room doesn’t get the sun at this time of day and it seems a shame not to make the most of it.’ She set the bowls at the stretch of bench along the window.
‘No problem. This looks great.’
He waited politely until she’d placed her own bowl and was seated alongside him. She gestured to the condiments, and the fresh chopped herbs. ‘Please.’
‘Thank you.’
They dipped their spoons together and she watched as he lifted his to his mouth. She barely tasted her own soup as she was so focused on seeing his reaction.
He took a moment, then smiled. ‘It’s good.’
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