of fantasy where they rubbed against each other without the barrier of their clothing. In bed.
She flicked a glance at the bed, mentally measuring it. It was a queen-sized mattress. That was good. But he was a large man. Would there be room for both of them? Maybe she’d have to be on top—
With a groan, she forced those thoughts from her head. Was he hot? Yes, he was. Did she want him? Definitely. If there was a chance to tangle with him, would she take it? Hell yeah.
It was probably just a logical response to the stress, to want him. No doubt a good, hard fucking would do them both some good.
Again, her attention drifted. It took some effort to pull it back to the task at hand. With great determination, she surveyed the staples he’d chosen. As the items registered, she snorted. Lots of hot dogs, pancake mix, snack crackers, canned cheese and jerky.
All junk food. Not a piece of fruit or a vegetable in the lot. What she wouldn’t give for a wheel of brie.
One should never let a man do the shopping.
With hopes high, she turned to the final bag and peered inside. She couldn’t hold back a grimace. There were a bunch of Peeps on top. She dug down deeper. More Peeps. And more.
With a scowl she dumped the contents of the bag on the counter. It was full of marshmallow Santas, reindeer and snowmen.
Seriously?
The door opened and he stepped in, shaking the snow from his hair. She growled at him. “A whole bag of Peeps?”
He fixed an innocent expression on his face. “I like them.”
“We cannot survive on sugar.”
“There’s hot dogs too.”
She rolled her eyes. “Do you know what they put in hot dogs?”
“Dogs?”
She ignored his jest. “No one knows. That’s what they put in hot dogs.”
“You’re an analyst. You could probably find out.”
“But I don’t want to find out.” She didn’t want to know. She didn’t want to eat them. “Couldn’t you at least have gotten something good?”
“This is all good.” He swept an arm over the collection of crap. Actual crap.
“There’s not one thing here that’s nutritious in the slightest.”
He pointed mutely to a can of soup.
“Sodium.”
Dried meat-flavored snacks.
“Nitrates.”
The can of cheese.
Oh, she couldn’t even begin with that. “We can’t eat like this, George.”
He frowned at her. “My name isn’t George.”
“The peanut butter is the only thing that’s even slightly palatable, and that’s so full of fat, they’ll have to roll me out of here.”
“They’re good at rolling people.”
She glared at him and he huffed a sigh.
“All right. Tomorrow we’ll go back to the store. But you probably won’t find anything there you like. For the time being, how about a PB&J?”
“You didn’t buy bread.”
“I got hot dog buns.”
She gaped at him. “You want me to eat a PB&J on a hot dog bun?” Good God, what was this world coming to?
She had no idea why he laughed. Laughed. That it was a rusty laugh didn’t help. “You really are anal, aren’t you, Miss Analyst?”
“I most certainly am not.” She tried to be huffy, but her lips turned up. She had no idea why.
Oh, all right. She did. He was adorable when he joked. When he let down that cold hard wall and became human for a moment. A brilliant, shining moment of time.
She really liked him when he did that.
Pity he didn’t do it often.
They fell silent as each prepared their own meal. He nibbled on a long thin stick of mystery meat as he speared three hotdogs on the skewer that had been hanging on a hook by the fireplace. She made a PB&J. On a hot dog bun. As she expected, the bread to peanut butter ratio was way out of whack, but she tried to keep it from freaking her out. She wasn’t anal. Not the way he said.
She just liked things a certain way.
That was all.
Really. It was.
“How is it?” he asked as he polished off his second nitrate-laced death bomb.
“Mmfh.” Her mouth was crammed with too much bun to answer. But it was filling and she had been hungry, so she decided not to complain. Much.
And that was the extent of their conversation…until he reached for the Peeps. She watched as he impaled Santa on the skewer.
“What are you doing?”
He shot her an evil grin. “Roasting him.”
“Roasting Santa?”
“Yup. You wanna do Rudolf?”
Why, oh why, did such exhilaration flood her at his offer?
It was an invitation to roast marshmallows, not an invitation to share his bed. But