All's Fair in Love and Chocolate (Marietta Chocolate Wars #1) - Amy Andrews Page 0,20

weep.”

Viv laughed. “I was thinking that would be more likely the foot massage.”

“Oh no, that won’t make you weep…”

He let the sentence trail off deliberately and, as had clearly been his intention, her head filled with thoughts of what else it might do. Viv waggled her finger. “Hey, no strings. We took the pledge, remember?”

“Yeah. I remember.” He sounded like he regretted it but held up his hands in surrender. “You have my word.”

*

Half an hour later, Viv followed her nose down the hallway of the small, two-bedroom cottage, her empty wineglass in hand. She was in a designer pair of sweatpants, which were lose and comfortable but classy as fuck, and a cashmere sweater she’d bought in Macy’s on sale last year that was soft as down on her skin. Her hair was still piled on top of her head where she’d twisted it before getting into the bath. Her face was framed by numerous flyaways that had escaped the hasty updo.

Maybe she should have made more of an effort given that she was entertaining a gentleman caller but Viv was so warm and relaxed she couldn’t muster one fuck. And it wasn’t like Reuben was her boyfriend.

They were friends who happened to be members of the opposite sex. Hell, Reuben was probably her only friend in Marietta at the moment.

The aroma of pinecones tickled her nostrils as she drew closer and she could hear the crackle of the fire. The chill that had greeted them as they’d walked through the door of the cottage had given way to delicious warmth. Reuben had obviously been busy.

She padded her way to the kitchen and pulled up in the doorway, settling her shoulder into the jamb as she watched Reuben bend at the waist, pull a dish out of the oven then set it down on a wooden board on the countertop adjacent to the oven. He’d removed his utility belt and his shoes and socks. He’d also untucked his shirt, the tails hanging loose. It hid his very fine ass from view but there was something causally sexy about it, about the way he’d made himself at home.

Reaching for the nearby stick of butter he sliced off a chunk into the steaming dish and stirred it in with a spoon. She didn’t know what he was making but the man clearly wasn’t counting calories. Who knew a guy could be just as virile in the kitchen cooking a meal as when he was out and about being Mr. Law and Order?

Plunging a fork into the dish he twisted it, loading it up with spaghetti before shunting it into his mouth for a taste test. He nodded, obviously pleased with the end result. “Perfecto,” he muttered under his breath.

“It certainly smells good.”

He turned, a smile on his face that slowly morphed to an expression of mild surprise. “You wear glasses.”

“Oh…” She touched the rim self-consciously. They were large with a funky horn-rimmed frame but she owned a half dozen pairs with different fashion frames so she could mix it up. “Yes. Usually only at nighttime when I’m watching TV or reading. I wear contacts at work but my eyes need a break by the end of the day.”

His gaze roved over her face and hair, lingering on the loose tendrils hanging down. “I like them,” he declared.

“You’re picturing me pulling out my hair and shaking it while I bite sexily into my bottom lip?”

He grinned. “Something like that.”

“You do have an active imagination.”

He didn’t agree or disagree, just grabbed the bottle of red off the counter. “Would you like another?”

“Yes.” She thrust her glass toward him as he crossed the distance between them. “Thank you.”

He stopped a socially acceptable distance from her—close enough to pour, not close enough to be indecent—but he might as well have smooshed his body up against hers for the way it lit up. It was as if he’d been imprinted on her DNA and her body had been programmed to respond the second he was within reach.

“Where do you want to eat?” he asked, his eyes fixed on the job of pouring.

“I usually just eat on the couch in front of the TV.” That was one of the many joys of living by herself. Being able to do what she wanted, when she wanted and not being accountable to anyone else. “But it’s fine by me if you’d rather sit at the table?”

His eyes lifted as the wine level on her glass reached the three-quarter mark