Maddie was overwhelmed. Robert had never once lifted a finger. Even her father had treated the kitchen as if it might bite him. The only help she’d ever had was help she paid. “I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything.”
“Well, I can say thank you, at least.”
“You’re welcome. It was a great meal.”
Maddie stood at the doorway, one hand gripping the jamb, not sure whether to stay or go. Maybe they could be friends, after all. Go, Maddie, before you screw this up.
“Well… goodnight.”
“Wait—”
She halted, her hand on the knob.
“I—the private investigator who’s looking for Mitch. He needs to go through Sam’s things to sift for clues.”
Maddie frowned. “And?”
“And it’s your house.”
“For the moment. He was your father. Those things belong to him and now to you.”
“I didn’t know if you’d mind Marlowe being here.”
Maddie turned. “Boone, as far as I’m concerned, this place is yours, not mine. I’ll honor your father’s requirement to stay, but I know I’m only a guest. Do whatever you need to do to find your brother.” She wished it weren’t so dark so she could see his face more clearly. She felt his stare, but she didn’t know what it meant.
Every nerve in her body was already too aware of him. She could still remember all too well how it had felt to have him so close when she’d offered him a taste of the sauce…how much she’d wanted to rise to her toes and place her mouth on his.
The tiny hairs on her body rose in response to him now, and Maddie knew she was in danger of forgetting what was real.
Boone Gallagher was too attractive even when he didn’t like her. Tonight, the man who would apologize, the man who cleaned up the kitchen because it was fair…that man was deadly.
“I, uh…I’d better go. Upstairs. To—never mind.” Great, Maddie, remind both of you how close you sleep to each other.
She thought she could see his eyes glitter in the moonlight.
“Sleep well, Maddie.”
Not likely. “Good night, Boone.” She was almost through the door before he spoke.
“And thank you.”
That voice, so deep…that drawl that slid down her spine and curled low…
Maddie gulped. “You’re welcome.” As fast as she could go, she was through the door and up the stairs.
Chapter Six
Boone rolled out of bed and slammed the alarm button down. He wasn’t sure why he’d bothered to go to bed. He’d stayed on the porch long after Maddie had left to be sure they didn’t cross paths again upstairs, but he hadn’t been able to stop himself from pausing in front of her closed door. From wanting to open it and watch her sleep in the moonlight and lying awake for a long time after.
He shouldn’t want anything to do with her. She asked too many questions about a past he wanted to forget. Made him think too much about feelings that did no good.
She would open up Pandora’s box and then leave for New York, and he would be left here to try to shove everything back inside and slam the box shut.
Heading for the shower this morning, he saw that her door was open, her bed empty. As his path neared the stairwell, he could smell baking bread.
The woman was lethal. She twisted him in knots just with her looks and then played dirty with her cooking. They weren’t playing house, damn it.
He stood with the shower beating down on his head and tried to ignore the traces of Maddie’s presence. The perfume of her soap rose in the heated air. A basket of sponges and lotions stood on a stool by the tub. As he scrubbed at a body already worn out by a restless night, a vision of her naked under this same shower taunted him.
He turned the shower to cold.
By the time he got downstairs he had worked up a fine head of steam, but she wasn’t in the kitchen to serve as his target.
He realized where she probably was. Doing impossible things with that lithe body on the porch.
His porch, damn it.
Boone grabbed a cup of the coffee that had just finished perking. Swearing ripely, he burned his tongue by sipping too quickly.
It was suicidal to skip breakfast, as much physical labor as he did in a day. He turned and headed for the barns, anyway.
And there she was, on the porch facing the sunrise, her body stretching as if to greet the sky, her movements slow and graceful.
He hesitated, wanting to watch, just for a minute.
And then she turned.
And smiled. “Good morning.”
“Mornin’.”
“The bread is almost done.”
He had to cut this off now, before it went too far. “I told you not to cook for me.”