Page 552 of Summer Heat
He looked up, and for one wishful moment, Tamara thought she saw the same hunger in his eyes. It disappeared in an instant, replaced by a smile that held not a trace of guile or seduction. “You got a computer. Good move.”
His voice, sounding so normal, broke the heated spell. Tamara lifted her eyebrows ruefully. “It seemed like a great idea at the time, but you know me and machines—now I’m afraid to set it up.”
“Well, ma’am, it just so happens that I know a little about it. Would you like me to do it for you?”
No. Yes. Both answers rose in her mind. If she said okay, she’d have to endure his company for much longer than she thought she could bear it. If she said no, the computer might sit in its boxes for weeks while she developed enough nerve to tackle it.
She couldn’t decide.
Lance carefully put the instruction booklet aside. “I guess you’d like a little time alone with Cody, huh? I understand.” He rose and reached for his coat.
“No. I mean, that’s not it.” She felt an embarrassing blush rise in her face. “I would like your help, but I’m reluctant to ask anything more of you.” She lifted a shoulder. “You’ve been so kind already.”
“Well, how about a trade?” He cocked his head. “You feed me some of that supper that smells so good, and I’ll set up the computer right afterward.”
“It’s just spaghetti,” she said. “But you’re more than welcome.”
“Just spaghetti,” he echoed. “Sounds excellent. I’m so sick of canned green chili I could die.”
“Canned green chili? Yuck.”
He shrugged. “Exactly. I’m dying for home-cooked food, and unfortunately, my mother will not take pity on me every single night. I’m only allowed once or twice a week.” He gave her his dazzling grin. “She says I’m plenty old enough to have learned to cook for myself.”
Tamara chuckled, her nervousness easing with the conversation. “She’s right.”
“I can cook. It’s just boring to cook for yourself. You ever notice that?”
There was a hint of loneliness in his words, and Tamara was suddenly glad to be able to provide something small to ease it. “Come on. We’ll eat in the kitchen.”
* * *
Lance couldn’t take his eyes off of her. Tonight she wore a dark green sweater that had seen better days. He liked the way the old threads shaped themselves to her body, cupping her breasts, molding her slim waist, even giving him a glimpse of soft white breast peeking over the V neck every now and then. Instead of her usual jeans, she wore a simple full skirt, warm and long, with socks on her feet. It made her look feminine and sweet.
As they ate, his wretched imagination kept giving him alluring visions of the body below that sweater, of those jade-green eyes heated to twice their intensity when she was filled with desire and him. He kept imagining the way it would feel to kiss her, slip his hand inside her sweater, make her cry out again. He kept remembering how responsive she was, so richly accepting of her body’s demands that she had come apart against him.
He wanted to do it again.
But he kept his conversation light, telling jokes about the job they were doing for a fussy suburbanite who’d changed her mind about the position of light fixtures three times. He played straight man to Cody’s knock-knock jokes. Tamara laughed easily, and filled his plate twice, and seemed completely unaware of the effect she had on him. It drove him crazy.
Cody, worn-out after the long day, was cranky through most of the meal, and Tamara picked him up firmly after he’d drank a cup of milk. “I think someone needs an early bedtime,” she said to Lance. “If you want to get started on the computer, I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Lance stood up, smiling, and bent close to kiss Cody’s cheek. He did it partly for Cody, but partly to get close to Tamara, as well, close enough he sensed her warmth. Close enough her hair brushed his cheek. Close enough he found himself ins
tantly, painfully hard.
“Night,” he said.
“Night, Daddy,” Cody replied, laying his head on his mother’s shoulder. Lance turned away, hiding himself behind the table. Maybe she wouldn’t notice. But maybe she would.
“I’ll be back in a minute,” she said. Her voice was perfectly even.
He scraped and stacked the plates and wiped off the stove and counter. He wouldn’t take the time to do the dishes because it was going to be tough enough to get out of here without making an idiot of himself as it was. She’d made it perfectly plain she didn’t want him—that he wasn’t her kind of man, and Lance had enough sense to know it was true. He’d get the computer together and get the hell out of here.
By the time she returned, he’d opened all the boxes and taken the components out, examining each one for any sign of trouble or tampering. It was a good machine—not fancy, but very good. When she returned, he said as much. “You must have done your homework.”
“Actually, I don’t know very much about it.” She sat in a chair by the lamp and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “The guy in the store was very helpful. He even gave me a fifteen percent discount on the price.”
Lightly, to fight the rise of jealousy he felt, Lance said, “Must have thought you were cute.” He looked up to gauge her reaction.
