All Grown Up by Janice Maynard Page A

did it for him. Everything about her appealed to his basic male instincts. Her beauty drew him in, but the challenge of wrangling with her kept him interested.
    He’d never been one to use a pretty girl on his arm to shore up his masculinity. He was a guy. Looks mattered. To some extent. But a shallow, self-centered female bored him. And boredom was a buzzkill as far as he was concerned.
    It seemed pointless to dress when he was headed upstairs to clean up. But then again, he didn’t want to run in to his houseguest while in the buff. Time to regroup and make a plan.
    After a long, blessedly hot shower, he dressed rapidly and peeked out the window. Snow as far as the eye could see. Sam had mixed feelings about being stranded. On the one hand, it was an iron-clad excuse to spend more time with Annalise. But conversely, if she proved to be even more prickly than usual in the aftermath of their lovemaking, their living situation was quickly going to become too close for comfort.
    When he made his way downstairs, he found evidence of Annalise’s presence in the form of an empty mug and cereal bowl tucked away in the dishwasher. He fell on the fresh pot of coffee with a mental hallelujah. Thank God she knew enough not to ruin this. After two cups, he felt marginally more alert.
    He had plenty of work to do. And he needed to check in at the office. But all he could think about was finding Annalise.
    It wasn’t hard to locate her. She had moved her iPod dock to the back of the house where she was working, but this time, the music was dialed down to a far lower volume. He followed the sound to what was known as the library, though in reality, his grandfather used it to house his vintage pool table.
    When Sam opened the door that was partially ajar, he found Annalise perched on a ladder photographing small sections of an intricate crown molding.
    He frowned, noting the rickety wooden rungs that should have necessitated tossing the thing years ago. “What in the hell are you doing?”
    She froze, and then slowly turned her head, casting him a cool, inscrutable look. Full-on ice princess. Damn.
    “This is original as far as I can tell. I’m texting a friend of mine who specializes in this kind of thing. He’ll let me know what he thinks.” She laid the phone she’d been using to take pictures on the top of the ladder. “Did you need something?”
    You . The word hovered on his lips. He swallowed it back. “Not really. When will you break for lunch? I thought I’d throw together a pot of chili and some cornbread.”
    Was it his imagination, or did she pale slightly. “You can do that?”
    “Cook, you mean? Well, yeah. I’ve been a bachelor for a long time.”
    She gnawed her lower lip. “Noon, then…or later. Your call.”
    He watched, frustrated, as she returned her attention to the task at hand, effectively dismissing him. She was wearing what for Annalise Wolff were probably casual clothes. Khakis, silver leather ballet flats, a crisp white cotton blouse and a thin black cashmere cardigan tied around her shoulders. Her hair was secured at the nape of her neck, leaving a long, thick ponytail to cascade down her back.
    For a split second, he remembered what that hair looked like spread across his chest, his legs, his… He gulped inwardly. “I could teach you,” he blurted out.
    This time, she half turned her entire body, threatening the stability of her perch. Wariness dueled with interest in her expressive eyes. “Teach me to…”
    “Make chili.” He felt his neck heat. “If you want to learn. It’s not hard.” The genesis for his impulsive invitation wasn’t clear. But something about the surprised pleasure in her smile made him glad he had asked.
    “I’d love to,” she said simply. “As long as I can’t muck it up too badly.”
    “Like how?”
    She shrugged. “You know. Food poisoning. Too much salt.”
    He grinned, feeling a return of the euphoria he had experienced in the middle of the night.