“Coffee?” he said when she didn’t move.
“Can’t you put some clothes on?”
“Coffee or clothes?”
She turned and went back to the kitchen. He followed, still clad only in his towel. Lia watched his movements, trying to pay attention so she could do it herself next time; the less interaction she had with Luc the better. He was not good for her equilibrium. But as the smell of fresh coffee infiltrated the room, she started to relax. Finally, he put a large, steaming mug in front of her, and she sighed blissfully, closing her eyes, and breathing in the wonderful scent.
“So, you’re not a morning person then?”
She took a sip. “What makes you say that?”
He smiled and took a seat at the huge table next to her. His long, bare legs stretched out in front of him, almost touching hers.
“Did you sleep well?” he asked.
“Okay. Something woke me early.”
“Probably me coming back.”
“It was five in the morning.”
“Definitely me coming back.”
She studied him closely. Now that she looked, his eyes were a little bloodshot. “Did you go out last night?”
“Yes.”
“You were drinking?”
He grinned. “Like a fish.”
Despite the bloodshot eyes, he looked remarkably well for a man who presumably had had no sleep last night. Lia regarded him balefully while trying to avoid staring at his naked chest. But it was impossible. There was too much of it. He appeared strong, not bulky like the sort of guys who worked out, but sleek and hard-muscled like a racehorse. She could clearly see his ribs under golden skin like satin. His chest was smooth except for tufts of dark silky hair over dusky male nipples, and down below his navel a line that disappeared enticingly beneath the white towel. But she wasn’t going to go there.
“I phoned Maggie,” Luc said, making her jump and spill her coffee. She glanced up at his face to find him watching her, a small smile curling his lips.
“What?” she asked.
“Maggie. She’ll be here at ten.”
“Do we have to do it today if the party’s not for over a week? I don’t like shopping much.”
“All women like shopping.”
Lia shook her head. “That is such a sexist comment. I happen to know lots of men who like shopping.”
Truth be told, she was intrigued to meet someone who had known Luc’s family. Maybe she could learn something useful, discover why he was so determined to find her father, why he was such an ass. She sat and sipped her coffee, tried to ignore the almost naked man next to her. It was impossible. After a few minutes, he drained his cup and stood up.
“You want some breakfast?” he asked.
She eyed him suspiciously. “You’re offering to make me some?”
“Actually, I cook a mean omelet, and I need to eat.”
“Soak up the alcohol, you mean?”
“Maybe.” He thought for a moment, rubbed a finger down the spot between his eyes. “Definitely.”
“Go ahead then. I want to see this.”
She reached across and poured herself another coffee, then watched as he collected the ingredients from the huge fridge. He’d said last night that he could make coffee, but it was obvious he knew his way around the kitchen.
“So where did you learn to cook?” she asked.
He glanced around from where he was frying bacon, the delicious scent filling the room. “My father believed that cooking was women’s work. Unfortunately, my mother had been brought up in a household that believed cooking was the housekeeper’s work.”
“She was rich?”
“Her family was…quite wealthy. They didn’t approve of my father, and I don’t remember her having any contact with them at all back then. She was a stubborn woman. Anyway, we ate a lot of takeout while I was growing up. If I wanted anything at home, I had to cook it myself.”
Five minutes later, he placed two perfectly cooked, fluffy, golden omelets on the table and pushed one in front of her, before resuming his seat and picking up his fork.
Lia waited a moment, then picked up her own and took a bite. It was delicious. “Wow,” she said. “I can’t even make toast.”
“And what’s your excuse?”
“Well, we weren’t rich but we did have a housekeeper.”
They ate in almost companionable silence. Like a couple. The thought brought her up short. If she wasn’t careful, she would forget that the only reason she was here was because Luc was blackmailing her. For some reason, he was being charming. But why should she believe that the Mr. Nice Guy act was the real Luc any more than the wicked blackmailer? Obviously, he was willing to go to any lengths to get her cooperation—even cooking for her. No doubt, it was a devious plot to lull her into a false sense of security with his fabulous culinary skills, while turning her mind to mush by flaunting his nearly naked body in that tiny white towel.