Holding the Dream Page 0,77

outmatched. "I'm not sure I like the way you do this."

"Let me know when you make up your mind. Meanwhile, I vote for a shower and dinner. I'm starving."

No, it wasn't going to be awkward, she concluded. In fact, it was amazingly pleasant to be wearing one of his faded T-shirts, listening to Bob Seger's sandpaper vocals grinding out rock. Byron had trusted her to put a salad together while he grilled the steaks. She was finding the process enjoyable - the colors and textures of the vegetables he'd set out for her. The summer-garden scent of them. She couldn't remember being quite so aware of food before. She liked to eat, Kate thought, but taste had always been the main stimulus. Now she decided there was more to it than that. There was the feel of the food, the way different ingredients played off each other, harmonized or clashed.

The moist, feathery layers of an artichoke heart, the firm snap of a carrot, the subtle bite of cucumber, the delicacy of salad greens.

She set down the chef's knife and blinked. What the hell was she doing? Romanticizing a salad? Good God. Carefully, she poured herself half a glass of the wine he'd set on the counter to breathe. Though she hadn't had any recent flareups, she was still leery of alcohol. She sipped the wine gingerly.

She could see him through the glass doors, talking to the dogs as he turned the steaks. Flame and smoke billowed.

They were cooking together, she thought. She was wearing his shirt. Dogs were begging for scraps, and music was playing.

It was all so quietly domestic. Terrifying.

"Honey - " Byron slid open the doors. "You want to pour me a glass of that? These steaks are about done."

"Sure." Easy, girl, she warned herself. This was just a nice, pleasant evening between two consenting adults. Nothing to get jittery over.

"Thanks." Byron took the glass she brought to him, swirled the wine before drinking. "You want to eat out here? It's a nice night."

"Okay." And more romantic, she thought as they carried out the dinnerware. Why shouldn't she enjoy a little starlight and wine with the man who'd just become her lover? There was nothing wrong with that.

"You've got that line between your eyebrows," he commented, sampling and approving her mixed salad. "The one you get when you're trying to calculate your bottom line."

"I was calculating how much of this steak I can eat without exploding." Eyes on her plate, she cut another bite. "It's wonderful."

"While I find it surprisingly satisfying to feed you, the food isn't what's bouncing around in your mind like a pinball." He started to ask her to look at him, then took the more direct route. He laid a hand on her bare thigh and watched her gaze shoot to his. "Why don't I make it easy for you? I want you to stay with me tonight."

She picked up her wineglass, fiddled with the stem. "I don't have any clothes."

"So we'll get up early, give you enough time to Swing by your place and change before work." He reached out, ran a fingertip down her throat. Such a long, slim throat. "I want to make love with you again. I want to sleep with you. Is that simple enough?"

Because it should have been, she nodded. "I'll stay, but I don't want any complaints when the alarm goes off at six."

He only smiled. It was a rare day for him not to be up already and jogging along the beach by six. "Whatever you say. Now, there's more. I said there were strings. I meant it."

That was what she'd been trying to keep neatly locked in the back of her mind. Wanting to choose her words with care, she continued to eat. "I'm not involved with anyone," she began.

"Yes, you are. You're involved with me."

A quick chill of warning ran down her spine. "I meant I'm not involved with anyone else. I don't intend to see anyone else while we're... involved. However it may seem by the way I came here tonight, sex isn't casual for me."

"Nothing's casual for you." He topped off his wine, then hers. "But sex is the easy part. It doesn't take a lot of thought, instinct kicks in, the body takes over."

His gaze rested on her face. Her eyes were wary, he noted, like those of a doe that had unexpectedly come across a stag in the woods. Or a hunter. "I have feelings for you."

Her heart bumped. She