Page 36 of Master My Love

“Okay,” she breathed. “Won’t you come in, Eric?” She gestured to the bottle of wine he held. “We can open that or chill it, whichever it needs.”

“Which do you prefer?”

“Don’t judge, but I usually add ice if it’s room temperature.”

He grinned at her disclosure. “On the rocks it is.”

Smiling, she led him through to her kitchen.

“Please, make yourself at home,” she said as she retrieved two wine goblets, added a few cubes of ices to each, then set them on the counter in front of him with a corkscrew. “Would you do the honors?”

He poured them each a glass and sat on a stool facing her at the island.

“Did your business in San Francisco go well?”

“It’s ongoing, so that remains to be seen,” he informed her, while observing her delicate hands with their pink-tipped nails place rolls on a baking sheet.

“Master T told me you were a Navy SEAL and had a degree in finance. How did you become an investigator?”

“Through a combination of education, experience, and field training. Most of us at Rossi are ex-military or law enforcement.”

She slid the pan into the hot oven. Turning back, she took a sip of wine as her gaze roamed over his muscular upper body. “You have the build of a soldier,” she remarked. “What made you leave the service?”

“I’m getting too old for combat dives and rappelling from choppers,” he replied. “I served for twenty years, including a stint in the Reserves, which ended about three years ago.”

“Did you serve overseas?”

“As a SEAL, I spent more time abroad than I did at home,” he admitted.

“You had missions in Iraq and Afghanistan, then?” she asked.

“More than I care to remember.”

“I’m grateful for your service, but more grateful that you’re home safe and sound,” she said with a smile.

“It was time to pass the trident. Truth be told, I was in the Middle East so often that even after three years, I feel like I still have sand in my ass crack.”

Her musical laughter rang out at his crude joke.

As he sipped his wine, he looked around the inviting room with its cedar hardwood floors, cream-colored cabinets, and stone countertops. Two skylights over her workspace let in natural light, and the moss-green walls gave it a warm, homey feel. He got up, wandered to the French doors that led out onto a small patio, and saw she had set a table for two outside.

The aroma of yeast rolls made him realize how hungry he was. “Dinner smells great. Do you do much cooking?”

“Not as much as I’d like. The kids only come home every few months, and it’s no fun cooking for one.”

“Then I’m glad you have the chance because a home-cooked meal is a treat for me. I’m not very handy in the kitchen, so I usuallygrab something on the go. I can grill a mean steak when the mood strikes, but since moving to LA, I haven’t had the opportunity.” Patting his stomach, he added, “All the takeout is catching up with me.”

When she snorted, he glanced over but she quickly averted her gaze.

“What was that?” he asked, not letting her off the hook.

Her head jerked up, her color heightened to a lovely pink. “Have you looked in the mirror lately, sir?” she asked in a rush, obviously trying to divert attention from the fact she’d been checking out his ass. “You’re hardly suffering from a middle-age paunch. If you have an ounce of fat, I don’t see it.”

Realizing her comment essentially confirmed what she’d been doing while he’d had his back turned, she blushed a darker shade of pink, and whirled, busying herself with meal preparations. Gawking and making personal comments on a dinner date’s anatomy must be out of character for her. However, he found the combination of shyness and daring very appealing.

“Running the club must keep you busy.”

Eric suppressed a laugh at her abrupt change in topic. He let it slide for now.

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