Page 17 of Mister Hockey
But the second his gaze locked back on hers, the attraction simmering in his gut rose into a roiling boil. The rules were changing and he didn’t know this new game.
Triumphant color blazed across her cheeks and he recognized a moment of victory when he saw one.
Jesus. She was stunning.
“Sorry to make you get up close and personal with my kitchen,” she said, waving a hand at her cluttered counter.
“I was going to compliment you on your stand mixer,” he replied.Stand mixer?What the actual fuck was coming out of his mouth? Worse still, he kept right on going. “I have the same model back at my place, but in silver.”
“A Kitchen Companion?” A puzzled furrow appeared between her brows. “You like to cook?”
He leaned against the doorway, crossing his legs with a casualness he didn’t feel. “It relaxes me. Plus food on the road sucks most of the time.”
She laughed. “That mixer is one of my prized possessions. I own most of the attachments.”
“Me too.”
She arched a brow. “The ravioli maker?”
He folded his arms. “Used it last Sunday afternoon making kick-ass rosemary sweet potato ravioli.”
They stared at each other for a drawn-out moment. He should be leaving, not swapping recipes like Julia Child, and definitely not guesstimating how the weight of her breasts would feel in his upturned palms.
This situation was turning into a gong show, but his feet refused to budge.
“I ordered the ice cream maker this week, should be here any day,” she continued.
“It’s worth it. I whip up these old-fashioned ice cream sandwiches so good that it would make you think you’ve died and tasted heaven.”
Her lips parted and he could swear her shoulders quaked. “I believe you.”
A flash of her naked, spread on his sheets, biting into one popped into his mind. A dribble of vanilla ice cream sliding over the sweet curve of her breast. Licking her to a clean polish.
“I make a batch once a week when I’m home.” He cleared his throat. “Do the vanilla bean ice cream on the slowest setting. Then slap it between two fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies.”
“Jed West the baker.” She appeared to have lost the ability to blink. “Got to say, I’d never have taken you for that.”
“What did you take me for?” He’d hate for her to think of him as a high-paid meathead.
Instead of answering, her gaze dropped to the car key clutched in his hand. “Oh.” She made a small face, ducking her chin. “Look at me, jabbering away when you must have a lot to do. And, yeah, so, okay then. Thank you for everything.” She stepped forward, extending her hand. “It was nice to meet you. Unexpected, but good. Really good.”
Instead of giving her a simple handshake, he laced his fingers with hers. Her skin was soft and smooth against his rough calluses. “My pleasure.” And that’s when the truth hit him with the force of a cartoon anvil.
This afternoon had been nothing but pleasure. Even patching her leaky roof. Meeting her strange relatives. Talking about appliances.
For these past few hours he hadn’t been famous, or stuck on a pedestal, which was good because being alienated got old. So did getting treated differently just because he happened to do a job he loved.
Nor did he have that low-grade stress that had been dogging him since his head injury. His fears about karma.
None of it. Instead, he felt... normal.
For so long he’d fought tooth and nail to be extraordinary. The best of the best. A champion. But an ordinary heart beat in his chest, one that yearned for simple things. A home, not a high-rise condo with a fridge empty except for beer and protein shakes.
The air vibrated as if someone had struck a tuning fork. She let him go first, releasing him in slow inches before wrapping her hands over her chest, hugging herself. “Guess I’ll be seeing you around.”
He cocked his head, peered harder. Screw the double vision, this was like trying to read invisible words between the lines. “You will?”
“Um. Yeah.” She mashed her lips, trying and failing to stamp out a flicker of amusement. “Not sure if you’ve noticed but your face happens to be on about a jillion billboards, plus that new commercial.”
