The Player - By Rhonda Nelson Page 0,38

he knew it was ridiculous, her gesture pleased him far more than it should have. His mother and grandmother cooked for him all the time when he’d been at home and he’d had one serious girlfriend in college—Shelley-the-two-timing-bitch-Edwards—who’d cooked for him while they’d lived together. Since then, he hadn’t gotten close enough to a woman to warrant something as domestic as cooking. This was nice, Jamie decided, inexplicably pleased.

“Make yourself at home,” Audrey called. “I’ve got to pull this out of the oven.”

“Can I help?”

“No, I’ve got it, thanks.”

Rather than park himself on her sofa, Jamie wandered around her living room, inspecting various pictures which lined her mantel. Not surprisingly, there were several of her and the Colonel. A couple of candid shots of her down by the lake. Several chronicled Moses’s growth, Jamie noted, resulting in a smile. Proud momma, eh? he thought with a shake of his head. Interestingly enough, there were no pictures of Derrick. He grimaced with pleasure and rocked back on his heels.

That had to be significant.

As for her house, it was a larger version of the cottages. White beadboard lined the bottom of the walls and she’d painted the top an interesting shade of blue, the color of an almost-but-not-quite night sky. Various vintage prints—Art Deco—were scattered around the room and a large antique mirror hung over her fireplace.

A comfy contemporary sofa had been dressed up with puffy floral pillows and instead of a traditional coffee table, she’d opted for an old seaman’s trunk. It was an eclectic mix of old and new—the end result was not only a reflection of herself, but comfortable and homey as well. He could very easily see her and Moses curled up on her couch watching TV and snacking, and to his acute discomfort, his imagination obligingly Photoshopped himself into that picture.

Audrey chose that moment to peer around the kitchen wall. “Dinner’s on,” she said, smiling. That adorable dimple winked in her cheek.

Once again, he was struck by just how beautiful she really was. Something in his chest squeezed, almost painfully. She’d left her espresso curls down and loose and, if she wore any make-up aside from a coat of pinkish gloss on her lips, she’d applied it with a very light hand. She was fresh and open and those kind, soothing eyes twinkled with some sort of hidden joy. She was bright and infectious and sexy as hell—the total package. Jamie released a pent-up breath, one he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. And the Colonel was right, he thought.

She was special.

And there was no way in hell he was going to let her marry Derrick.

Seduction on, he thought, purposely kicking the charm factor up a notch. Playtime was over.

10

* * *

AUDREY WATCHED Jamie’s lips curl into that trademark bone-melting grin as he sidled into her kitchen, and she felt the abrupt shift in his intent. It was as though he’d flipped a switch, the change was so remarkable.

He wore a pair of faded denim jeans which were tight in all the right places and a brown cable-knit sweater which accentuated his broad, muscled shoulders and picked up the golden tones of those remarkably sexy eyes. From the looks of things, he’d attempted to gel his unruly curls into place, but had failed because they’d sprung free, a riot of loose and sexy locks she simply itched to push her fingers through. He obligingly pulled her chair out for her.

“Thank you,” Audrey murmured.

“You’re welcome,” he said silkily. He took his own seat. “Thank you for cooking. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a home-cooked meal.”

“Oh?” Fishing again, but what the hell? By this point he should expect it. Audrey filled his salad bowl first, then hers.

He grinned and his gaze twinkled with knowing humor. “You never give up, do you?”

She speared a forkful and shot him a smile. “No. It’s part of my charm.”

“Oh, I don’t think I’d say that,” Jamie told her, his gaze dropping with lingering accuracy to her lips. He finally relented with a sigh. “Let’s just say that I have a roommate who isn’t any better in the kitchen than I am, and my mother and grandmother live too far away to make dropping by their house for dinner do-able.”

“How far out of Atlanta do they live?”

Jamie finished a bite of salad. “Five and half hours. They’re in Alabama.”

So that was the Roll Tide connection. Her grandfather had told her that they’d met at the University of Alabama. She should have realized