Page 24 of Wild Love

Eli moved around the island so that we stood unnecessarily close together. It was difficult to draw in a deep breath. His masculine scent surrounded me, conjuring up sexy scenarios inmy head. Him bending me over the stool. Me on my knees in front of him.

My panties were wet, but we were supposed to be cooking dinner. Who knew that cooking dinner with a man could be foreplay?

I shouldn't have moved into the lodge, and I never should have accepted his generous offer of this condo. And lastly, I never should have invited him into my space. I'd made one stupid decision after the other. Exactly what my family always accused me of doing.

Eli took the meat from my trembling hands and set it on a cutting board. I was incapable of thinking about cooking, much less following directions.

He cut it into smaller strips. "It cooks quicker this way."

"Oh? Are you terribly hungry?" I asked breathlessly. Either I was feverish or the fire was throwing off heat because I was hot.

Eli lifted his head, his eyes darkened with a promise I hoped to witness one day. "Very."

Was he thinking about food or something else? Maybe what I would look like naked. My knees went weak at the idea that Eli wanted me as badly as I wanted him.

I was out of my depth in this situation. Eli was older, more sophisticated, and experienced. I should have been regrouping and figuring out my life. Instead, Chance's friend was cooking in my kitchen, looking sexier than any man I'd ever spent time with on a regular basis.

"Can you crush the tortilla chips while I flatten the meat?" Without waiting for an answer, Eli searched the drawers for a mallet and started pounding it into thinner strips.

My cheeks heated still on the use of the word meat. I grabbed the bag of lime tortilla chips, crushing them in the bag.

I readied the flour, egg, and chips in a bowl. Then Eli dredged the strips of meat in the mixture before placing them in a casserole dish. I preheated the oven.

Eli placed it into the oven, then washed his hands. "Cilantro rice?"

I grabbed the bag and carefully measured two cups of rice while Eli diced the cilantro. He showed me how to cook the rice and season it with the cilantro and lime. At this point, we moved effortlessly around the kitchen, shifting out of each other's way.

The kitchen filled with the scent of lime and cilantro.

When everything was cooking, Eli asked, "You want a glass of wine?"

I'd been drinking ice water, hoping to cool my overheated body, but wine would be even better. "That would be great."

"I'll grab a bottle from my place. Be right back."

He walked out, and I sagged against the counter, feeling like I'd run a marathon without eating anything. I was weak and exhausted from my efforts not to touch him.

We were cooking dinner together. This was a neighborly thing to do. Chance had asked Eli to keep an eye on me, and this was his way of doing that.

He wasn't attracted to me. He probably saw me as a young woman who couldn't get her life together. Whereas he was a successful businessman who wore suits daily.

We weren't in the same hemisphere when it came to dating. He probably went for the sophisticated women who worked high-powered jobs, and I hung out with creative theater types. We had nothing in common other than my brother.

He'd report back to Chance that I was settling into the apartment and I hadn't managed to set the kitchen on fire the first time I cooked. I wiped the sweat from my brow, downing another glass of water.

I moved to the windows that lined the living room, touching the cool glass. I wished there was snow outside. It was the only cure for the heat overtaking my body.

The door opened, and I turned to find Eli holding up a bottle of white wine. "This will go with our meal."

Our meal? How had I allowed Eli to hijack my evening? Nothing good could come from this.

I purposely waited by the cool glass. The heat of the kitchen was too much. Eli popped the cork, pouring the wine into two glasses. Then he crossed the room to me. "What are you doing over here?"

"I was warm, and I love this view." I turned to face the windows before he could scrutinize me anymore. If he looked too closely, he'd see my desire for him written all over my face.

He handed me a glass, and I sipped the wine, knowing I was playing Russian roulette with my brain. If I drank too much, I wouldn't be able to resist the deliciousness that was Elijah Wilde. I'd climb him like one of the trees that lined the ski slopes.

Something told me he'd be wild in bed but attentive and tender too.

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