Fiona And The Sexy Stranger by Ferrarella Marie

Author:Ferrarella, Marie [Ferrarella, Marie]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Romance
ISBN: 9781459267268
Publisher: Harlequin Treasury
Published: 2012-04-22T18:28:18+00:00

6

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Fiona countered.

The quizzical look on Hank’s face had her continuing without drawing a breath. If there was anything she was confident about, it was her ability to make mouth-watering meals. Ever since she could see over the kitchen counter, she’d had a knack of taking mundane ingredients and creating culinary magic with them. It was a talent that she knew set her apart and one she took refuge in.

“I think I could whip up a dish or two that might just woo you away from your allegiance to meat and potatoes.”

Hank steepled his fingers together as he studied her. The change amazed him. One moment, Fiona was in retreat; the next, she was serenely confident.

“Are you inviting me over for a home-cooked meal?”

That wasn’t exactly what Fiona had meant But then, how else could he have taken it? It did sound like an invitation.

“I—that is—” There was no graceful way to get out of this. Maybe she didn’t altogether want to, she realized. Why else would she have set herself up like this?

“Because if you are,” he continued, “I accept I haven’t had a decent home-cooked meal since I left home.”

“You can’t cook?” She had no idea why that surprised her. Maybe it was because he seemed so completely self-sufficient to her. She pictured him being capable in any given situation.

One side of his mouth rose in a half smile as Hank thought of one particular messy fiasco he’d engaged in. He’d tried to make stew the way his mother did and wound up with burnt chips permanently soldered onto the bottom of his only pot.

“Only to survive. It’s not one of my major talents. Besides, there’s never enough time for it.” He worked late at the office and availed himself of takeout or thirty-minute deliveries to avoid puttering in the kitchen. During rare, creative moments, he bought cold cuts and made sandwiches.

Since a great deal of her time was spent in the kitchen, coaxing along new creations or working with old, familiar recipes, Fiona couldn’t imagine not having the time to cook.

“For me, there’s always enough time to cook. Cooking relaxes me.”

It had the opposite effect on him. Especially when pots boiled over. He would have thought that since Fiona’s line of work required a great deal of cooking, the last thing she’d want to do when she was off was prepare a meal. “Even under pressure?”

“Especially under pressure.” That was when she was at her best, exhilarated by the challenge. “I’m not very good at other things, but in the kitchen—well, in the kitchen it doesn’t matter how tall I am, or if I’m wearing any makeup. Seasonings don’t care what you look like, only how creative you are.”

His expression was bemused. “I wasn’t aware that seasonings had opinions at all.”

She’d talked too much, Fiona thought ruefully. “You’re laughing at me again.”

He reached for her hand.

“No, I’m not. I’m not laughing, I’m smiling.” His eyes touched hers warmly. “With you.”

“But I’m not smiling.

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