Rose by Sydney Landon Page B

ingredients for spaghetti laid on the counter when he finally comes in looking a little less cocky and a lot more flushed. I point at the clove of garlic and an onion I’ve set out. “I bet a macho guy like you can chop those without shedding so much as a single tear.”
    I don’t miss the way his gaze roams hungrily over my body for a split second before he gives me an easy smile. “If I’m in charge of this, then I guess you’re handling … everything else?”
    I’ve never considered food to be sexy, but when I open the hamburger meat and begin kneading it with my hands, we both shift uncomfortably. I have no idea why I’m even touching it considering I normally dump it straight from the package into the pan. This is so much more fun, though. I do fear that Max might chop off a digit with the knife he’s wielding since he’s so transfixed on what I’m doing. I know it’s pure, sick, evil that has me inserting my ring finger into the soft mass almost as if I’m making love to it. Dear God, I need more therapy than I thought.
    In a strangled voice, Max hisses, “I swear I’ve never been jealous of ground chuck before, but if you don’t stop touching that stuff, I’m going to embarrass myself right here.”
    I would love nothing better than to extend his torment, but I’m getting kind of grossed out by the smell and the texture of the former cow I’ve been doing my best to violate. Poor Bess, she didn’t deserve to end up like this. I dump the lump into the skillet and set it on low heat to brown. I cross to the sink and thoroughly wash my hands three times before leaning against the cabinets to watch Max mince the garlic. I’ve never really cooked with a man before, and it’s surprisingly erotic. Jake’s idea of making dinner was to pick up Chinese on the way over. If he were feeling especially frisky, he’d transfer it onto china before we ate. I give Max my best bimbo stance, complete with hair twirling. “Whatcha doing over there, handsome?”
    He rolls his eyes, but I can see a grin pulling at the corners of his full lips. “I’m keeping the sharp objects out of your hands, my beauty,” he teases easily as he finishes up. I shake my head at his wise-ass comment, but it doesn’t offend me. I’m sure that some wouldn’t be able to handle him poking fun at something so personal and serious, but in a weird way, I find that it grounds me. I’m not stupid; I realize that he’s concerned about me. Instead of making a big deal out of what he discovered last night and watching me every second of the day, he’s keeping it light. I truly believe he feels if he handles it in such a way, then maybe I’ll feel more comfortable in talking to him about it, and he’s possibly right. He’s learned my dirty secret, so the shock value is gone. I couldn’t reveal much to him at this point that would be worse. He’s still treating me like—well, me. Not some pathetically messed-up creature that needs saving. And I love him for it—in the way you would a favorite teacher who made you feel like an adult for the first time. Oh hell, who am I kidding? My feelings for Max are much more complicated than that. I want him to do dirty things to me that I’ve only ever read about.
    “I think you’ve already taken care of that, baby.” He waves the knife in my face before tossing it into the sink. I give him a blank look before it hits me. Shit! I must have said that last thought aloud. I don’t need a mirror to know that my face must be the color of my hair. How many times must I blurt out crazy shit before I learn to keep control of my mouth? “I hope you’re referring to me doing stuff that doesn’t require Band-Aids or stitches.”
    “You’re such an ass!” I snap as I fling a damp dishcloth and do a little victory dance when it nails him right in the chest. “You really need to speak with your friend, Dr. Foster, about some sensitivity classes. I’m sure he wouldn’t be happy to know that