The mental image of microscopic hormone-filled cells swaying in time with some love song from the fifties caused her to chuckle out loud.
“What’s so funny?”
The unexpected male voice made her jump. Cassie spun and saw Ryan standing in the doorway to the kitchen. He propped one shoulder against the door frame and crossed his arms over his chest. As usual, he wore jeans and a long-sleeved shirt rolled up to the elbows. Today that shirt was blue.
There was something so incredibly masculine about him. While she knew in her head that Joel was also male, he seemed to have nothing in common with Ryan. It was as if the two men were two completely different species.
“I, um, was just thinking about some things,” she said when he continued to look at her expectantly. She could feel a flush heating her cheeks and she hoped that if he noticed, he would assume it was from the oven or the exertion of cooking.
“I see.”
She couldn’t tell if he was letting her off the hook because he was being polite or because he had figured out what had been on her mind and he didn’t want to talk about it. Please God, let it be the former.
“Unk Ryan!” Sasha waved her wooden spoon in the air. “Me help.”
“You’re like the drum major for a marching band,” he said. “I’m sure Cassie appreciates you setting the beat.”
Sasha frowned in confusion, returned to her pot and began banging against the side and singing. Ryan winced at the noise, then moved into the kitchen.
“What are you cooking?” he asked, raising his voice slightly to be heard over the noise.
“There’s a meat loaf in the oven. I’m going to make mashed potatoes and green beans.” Cassie paused, then lowered her voice as Sasha got caught up in the play of light on the pot lid and stopped banging. “I never thought to ask what you liked to eat. I generally fix simple things like this or spaghetti. Roast chicken, that sort of stuff. But if you have a preference, I can see what I can do.”
He tucked his hands into his jeans pockets and looked at her. “You’re not here to cook for me. You’re Sasha’s nanny.” He glanced around the kitchen. “I should have hired someone to take care of meals. I never thought about it.”
“It’s all right. I don’t mind. In fact, I sort of like cooking.”
His green-eyed gaze settled on her face. “Practice?”
His features were strong and so perfectly proportioned, she thought as she stared back. She’d never met a man with such gorgeous eyes before and she found that she really liked how they looked. He didn’t smile much, but when he did she could feel it all the way down to her toes. And his voice. Smooth and low, his voice belonged on the radio, or maybe recording books on tape.
“Cassie?”
“Huh? Oh, um, practice.” That had been the last thing he’d said, right? At least she thought so. “Practice for what?”
He pointed to her left hand. “When you get married. I was asking if you were seeing what all that would be like. This is a great simulation.”
Yeah, she thought dreamily, except they weren’t simulating the good parts.
“I hadn’t thought of it that way,” she forced herself to say, because he seemed to expect a response from her.
“You’re a natural. Your boyfriend is a lucky guy.” He smiled.
On cue, her toes curled, her stomach dove for her knees and her mouth went dry. The man had a smile that could change carbon into diamonds. Boyfriend, she thought vaguely. Oh, yeah, Joel.
Joel! Yikes, what was she doing? She was practically an engaged woman. Cassie stiffened her spine and forced away all warm and yummy thoughts about her employer. She was wasting her time daydreaming. He was not for her. The man was successful, probably rich and definitely older by at least seven or eight years. She didn’t usually act like this. What was wrong with her? She forced her attention back to the potato she was supposed to be peeling.
“Thanks,” she said and was proud when her voice came out sounding completely normal. “I’ll tell him you said that the next time he and I are together.”
“You do that.”
“Unk Ryan, up!”
Sasha had abandoned her pots and spoon and now stood in front of her uncle. She raised her arms toward him. “Up,” she repeated.
“What does she want?” Ryan asked.
“Just what you think she does,” Cassie answered, not sure how it was possible to misinterpret the toddler’s request. “She wants you to pick her up and hold her.”
“That’s what I was afraid of.”
He mumbled more than spoke the comment as he bent over and reached for his niece. Sasha smiled broadly as he picked her up and held her in front of him. But when he didn’t move her close to his body, but instead kept her nearly at arm’s length, her smile faded.