A Baby for the Billionaire(20)

“Says the woman who once made me eat a plate of uncooked spaghetti.”

“It wasn’t that awful.”

“It crunched.”

“I told you this place needed a chef, but did you listen? No.”

“I work all hours of the night. Executive chefs aren’t available at 3:00 a.m. when all I want is a Hot Pocket.”

“Then you have to make do with crunchy spaghetti and oversalted hamburgers,” she said while liberally sprinkling seasoning onto the ground meat.

“I’ll survive.” He eyed the meat. “Probably.”

She flicked a pinch of salt at him.

“Bad luck to drop salt.”

“Really? What else do you think can possibly happen to me this week?”

“Fair point.” Pushing off the side of the counter he gathered the plates and cutlery they’d need. “I like mine—”

“Rare. I know.” She slipped the patties into the pan.

Standing behind her, he folded his arms and watched her work. Though he teased her, she wasn’t a terrible cook, which she proved by moving expertly around his kitchen as if she owned the place.

It’s nice, having her here.

More than nice. He’d never longed for companionship, preferring his own space, but with Clara, he didn’t mind having her in his home.

Why is that? If any other woman tried to reach for what Clara sees as her right, I’d show them the door.

But not Clara. Never her.

She glanced over her shoulder and froze.

“What?” she demanded.

He cocked his head to the side. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Why are you staring at me like that?”

“Just thinking,” he replied. “Nothing more sinister than that.”

Though he’d go to the grave rather than admit while he liked seeing her in his kitchen, he’d prefer seeing her in his bedroom even more.

…

A shiver ran down her spine. Just thinking.

About what exactly?

Because there was a look in his eyes that made her suspect his thoughts weren’t focused on food.

Doesn’t mean he’s not hungry…

Mentally, she shook her head. Bad Clara. Don’t go down that road.

It was just Diane’s talk that was getting to her. Making her wonder about things that were better left alone.

“Wanna get the condiments?” she asked, turning back to the stove.

She heard him moving around behind her and did her best to concentrate on cooking the burgers. But that didn’t stop the hair on the back of her neck from rising when he brushed past her almost close enough to touch.

“How are they coming?” Walker asked, his warm breath tickling the skin of her neck as he leaned over her shoulder to inspect the frying pan.

Without thought, she turned toward the sound and found herself once again tantalizingly close to his mouth.

Inhaling sharply, she raised her gaze to his only to find him watching her with equal intensity.

Her mind blanked as she stared at him. His body pressed lightly against her back, and while there was nothing particularly small about her, next to Walker she felt vulnerable in a way she never had with anyone else.

“Burning.”

“What?” she asked, her gaze dropping to his lips. What would they taste like if she just leaned over the tiniest bit?

“The meat is burning.”

Jumping, she saw he was right. Smoke was slowly rising from the sizzling pan. “Hell,” she swore, flipping the burgers over to expose the charred underside. “This might be another meal for the storybooks.”

“We’ll just call it added flavor.” He handed her a plate to put the food on and stepped back.

“But—” She stopped herself before the question could escape her.

His head whipped back to her. “But what?”

But what is happening between us? But why do I want to kiss you?

A little forced proximity and all her good intentions went out the window.

“Nothing,” she said, forcing a smile. “I’m just going to grab a drink.”

The intensity in his gaze banked. “Sure.”

Getting a glass of water, she returned to the island and slid into the chair beside him. Usually their meals were filled with cheerful banter or companionable silence. This one was neither.

The food tasted like ash on her tongue. She was acutely aware of the man beside her even in the uncomfortable silence that for the life of her, she couldn’t figure out how to break. Every topic of discussion she thought up seemed like a transparent effort to avoid talking about the one thing she wanted to know.

Do you want me too?

But instead of asking, she bit into her charred black burger and forced herself to swallow.

Talk about something. Anything. Nothing could be worse than this silence.