Divorced, Desperate, and Delicious

Chapter 6

“Dinner is served,” he said, entering the bedroom.

He found her sitting up in bed, her legs stretched out in front of her and crossed at the ankles. She looked . . . divorced, desperate and delicious, surrounded by the two cats, now lacking their costumes. Her hair appeared a little mussed, like a woman should look in bed. She wore no makeup, which pleased him. Chase had always preferred his women au naturel. What she didn’t look, he realized with a great amount of relief, was afraid.

She shifted.

His gaze went to the slight sway of breasts beneath the pink cotton shirt. Why couldn’t she have been ugly?

‘‘Hungry?” he asked, trying to shake the attraction. The two cats jumped off the mattress and darted around his ankles. He glanced down at the prancing felines, then up at her. Careful not to step on the cats, he edged closer, placed a plate in her lap and the coffee on the table closest to her. She turned her legs and slid her feet over the side of the bed.

The white feline jumped on the bed and Lacy nudged the cat aside. She looked down at her plate, picked up the sandwich, studied it, then set it back down beside the chips.

“What is it?” she asked.

Chase sat at the foot of the bed. “Tuna salad sandwich. Your refrigerator said you liked it.” He grinned. “I didn’t take the time to boil an egg, but I found some mayo and pickle relish.”

She blinked, stared at the plate, and then her eyes grew round.

“What? You think I’m trying to poison you?” He scooted over and swapped plates with her. She stared wide-eyed as he took his first bite of the sandwich.

Her lips twitched as if she wanted to smile, but she seemed determined to keep the emotion in check. She might not be afraid of him, but she appeared unwilling to share something as lighthearted as a smile. And that made it a challenge. Before he left here, he’d win a smile. One smile.

“You didn’t think I could cook, did you?” he asked. “I’m not helpless in the kitchen. My father ran a restaurant.” He blocked the orange feline from his plate. “You’re not eating. Still don’t trust me? You want to swap plates again?”

“It’s not that. It’s . . .” She bit down on her lip.

He picked up his other half of the sandwich and continued to eat. “It’s what?” The words formed around the bite in his mouth.

“It’s just . . .” She watched him take another bite. Her lips twitched again, but she still held back. “I’ve never been fond of . . .” Her eyes met his. “I didn’t have tuna in my refrigerator. I accidentally opened one too many cans and . . . well, that’s Fancy Feast.”

“But your fridge said—”

“I ate the tuna yesterday.”

“You’re joking.” He stared, hoping she’d blink repeatedly, give him some sign that she lied. She didn’t. His gaze darted to the last bite of the sandwich he held between his thumb and forefinger. The bite in his mouth grew bigger, and he couldn’t bring himself to swallow.

“I think this is flaky white fish and tuna. It’s Leonardo’s favorite.” She pointed to the cat moving toward him.

The red tabby nibbled at the sandwich. The lump of bread and Fancy Feast lay heavy on Chase’s tongue.

He dropped his plate on the bed and spat the half-chewed lump of sandwich into his hand. Jumping up, he moved to the bathroom. He could swear he heard laughter over his shoulder. But if she’d smiled he’d missed it and that didn’t count.