toys. Not wanting to listen to anything more about the importance of self-pleasure, Daphne had tucked the book into her bag and promised to read it.
Then tried to forget about it.
When Daphne had finally picked the book up off her nightstand weeks later because she’d read everything in her TBR stack, she’d learned about her own desires, what turned her on, some clitoral-wishbone thing, and all kinds of scientific mumbo jumbo on how to get turned on and climax for days. Okay, not really, but it had felt like that. As a result, the idea of fulfilling sex thrummed right in the middle of her cerebral cortex, which in turn told the hypothalamus to secrete testosterone and something . . . something about the amygdala. Whatever. All she knew was that reading that book had made her hyperaware that no one had touched her body for a long time. A very long time.
“How thoughtful of you,” she said, taking the bag and opening the screen door. “Come on in. Everything is ready.”
“Smells delicious.” Clay walked past her, taking up more space than she’d estimated. His shoulder brushed against her, and she warned herself to stop thinking about sex, that book, the way he smelled, and the fact that she could probably have her panties around her ankles in 1.4 seconds.
“I hope it’s good. I’ve been so busy, I haven’t cooked much lately. Plus, it’s been so hot.” She pulled the wine from the bag. It was a pink zinfandel and had a lizard on it. Daphne had seen that bottle at every store that sold wine . . . even the local gas station. But no matter, the man had brought wine, which was most gracious.
“I didn’t know what to get. I don’t drink the stuff usually. I’m a beer guy, but the girl behind the counter said she liked this.” Clay shrugged his shoulders and gave her a sheepish grin.
“It’s fine. Ellery dropped some wine by earlier, and it’s already chilled. So I’ll just tuck this away for later.” She shoved the bottle in the fridge, thinking Tippy Lou might like it. But wait, her friend had given up drinking. For now.
“Can I help you with anything?” Clay asked, setting his hands on his hips. The action made him look even more masculine. The loaded question didn’t help, either. She could think of a lot of things he could help her with.
“Nope, I’ve got it. I usually serve family style, but since it’s just me and you, I’ll fix the plates and bring them into the dining room.” She turned and picked up two of the stemmed glasses from the six she’d set out. “You know, on second thought, you can open the wine and pour us both a glass.”
He looked at the bottle chilling in the marble wine cooler, grabbed the opener, and stared at the bottle as if perplexed. Daphne fought the inclination to take it from him and show him how to do it because it would make her look motherly. Or bossy. Or practical. So she turned and took the plates from the cabinet. The kitchen surrounding her was familiar; the man struggling to cut the foil from the top of the bottle was not.
She scooped peas and dished out mashed potatoes, okra, and meat loaf before adding a sliver of not-so-soggy-in-the-middle-anymore corn bread onto plates. Finally, Clay handed her a glass of the crisp blend from the Texas winery Ellery had been raving about for months.
Daphne took a big slug and sighed. Good stuff.
Clay sniffed at his. “They say you’re supposed to smell it before you drink it. Saw that on TV one time. I don’t know why. I mean, unless it smells like cow patty, you’re probably going to drink it, right?”
Daphne smiled. “Oh, you know fancy people. They like the bouquet.”
“Guess you ain’t fancy people,” he teased, nodding at the fact she’d already had two big sips.
“You would be correct,” she said, handing him her glass and picking up the plates. “Follow me. I’m starving.”
Clay did as bid, trailing after her as she pushed through the swinging door (another thing that would change because, duh, open concept demanded everything be visible—even the dirty dishes) and set Clay’s plate across from her usual spot. She’d intentionally handed him her glass of wine so she could choose his place for him. Didn’t want him right next to her where she could smell him or accidentally brush his arm.
Whether anything could actually happen between her