kitchen like he owned the place. “Mornin’.” He flashed her a grin that should be illegal in all fifty states.
She tried not to stare; honest to God she did. But ignoring Jared was like ignoring the Sistine Chapel. Except while he might be pure perfection on the outside, his rotten heart was another matter entirely.
Dark stubble shadowed his face, and raindrops glistened off his black hair. Rain molded his navy blue T-shirt to his chest like a second skin, revealing defined muscles and a hard, flat stomach. A pair of black shorts revealed long, toned, muscular legs. He smelled like a fresh rain shower, crisp morning air, and clean, hard-won sweat. She felt a pull in the pit of her stomach.
Damn him for waltzing into her kitchen half-dressed and making her remember sensations she’d buried long ago.
He snagged the clean kitchen towel off the counter, wiped his face, then ran the towel back and forth over his short hair.
“That’s a kitchen towel,” she snapped, trying hard to ignore him. And failing miserably.
The towel paused at the back of his head. “Do you mind?” He flashed her one of his boyishly charming grins that didn’t fool her for one second.
Yes, her mind screamed. I mind everything you do. But arguing about a stupid towel was the least of her problems right now. She had bigger fish . . . bigger flyboys . . . to fry. “No, of course not.” She tried to sound like she meant it.
And then it dawned on her just what he’d been doing up at this early hour. “You were running?” The way she said it was more of an accusation than a question.
“Only a quick jog. Didn’t have time for my usual seven miles.”
She choked. Seven miles? Chalk up another of his faults: compulsive exerciser. In her book, that ranked right up there with puppy haters and serial killers.
She was about to let him know how crazy she thought he was when the smell of something burning had her hurrying to the stove.
She grabbed the pan off the burner and popped the toast up. One of these days she was going to have to get a toaster that actually worked. She looked down at the food. Burned toast and overdone eggs. She placed the blame for this latest culinary disaster exactly where it belonged: on a wide, muscled chest and a wolfish grin that sent a tingle of awareness straight through her.
She pulled a plate out of the cupboard and tried to slide the eggs out of the pan and onto the plate. They weren’t budging. It took several hard scrapes with the spatula to unstick them. Nonstick spray my foot.
She eyed the eggs suspiciously. She couldn’t be sure, but it looked like there were still a few bits of eggshells mixed in. Darn it, she thought she’d picked them all out. Oh well, she’d just make sure to be extra careful when she ate.
Her toast was another matter. She thought about making a couple more pieces but then abandoned the idea. She’d learned a long time ago that enough butter could cover a multitude of cooking blunders.
With her breakfast in one hand, she turned and came face-to-face with Jared. Well, face-to-chest.
How did he always manage to sneak up on her?
Her heart stuttered then kicked into overdrive. He was close. Too close. It had been hard enough to ignore him when they’d been separated by the peninsula, but now that he was mere inches from her . . .
How long had it been since she’d stood this close to a man who wasn’t her father or brother?
“Somethin’ sure smells good.”
Him. He smelled good. Like fresh raindrops, crisp morning air, and everything forbidden.
“Thanks,” he said, reaching for the plate between them. “I’m starved.”
Embarrassed at where her mind had been and embarrassed at her horrible cooking, she was about to tell him to get his own breakfast, when she remembered the burned toast and ruined eggs. At that moment, all of her grievances toward Jared piled up between them. He’d barged into her life, into her business, into her housewithout so much as an ounce of remorse. It was no secret what he thought of her or how she ran her business, while she couldn’t seem to keep her eyes or thoughts off of him. It took less than five seconds for all of those thoughts to converge into a good old solid fury.
She looked down once more to the plate between them and had never been