I arched a brow at him and handed him the instrument we referred to as the “lemon-squeezer,” a paring knife, and a wide-lipped glass that used to have a jelly label on it.
“Although, I must say”—he dropped one side of his mouth and lowered his volume again—“I’m a little disappointed there’s no pink, frilly apron.”
Ignoring his flirty banter, I swiped peanut butter onto salty squares. “Hope you weren’t expectin’ anything fancy this afternoon.”
“Only caviar and a bottle of your finest champagne.”
“Well, you’ll have to settle for crackers and lemonade instead.” I clattered a plate in front of him.
“My favorite!” he cheered loud enough to catch the boys’ ears.
Mikey twisted his head over his shoulder. “It’s my favewit too, Pete!”
“Katie-Kat, can we eat in here today?” Andrew called from his belly position in front of the TV.
“Why not?” I said, stacking plates on my arm and scooping up two slopped-together fresh-squeezed lemonades to bring out to the living room. I was becoming quite the rule breaker these days. Pete followed suit, carrying his plates in one hand and the other two lemonades in the other, like me.
“Wow. I gotta say Pete: I’m impressed . . . if all else fails, you could make it as a waiter.”
“It’s good to know I have some options in life,” he said wryly.
“Uh-oh. Looks like you forgot my plate though.” I wagged a finger at him. “That’s gonna cost you a dollar.”
Pete laughed appreciatively, lassoing me around the waist as I walked by to retrieve it. “It wasn’t a mistake—I thought it would be more fun to share.” This last part was imparted into my ear.
I froze, the smile sliding from my face. He was doing it again—trying (and succeeding) at winning me over. He let me go to plop himself down in the middle of our sunken couch.
“Come on Kate . . .”—he whapped the seat next to him—“take a load off.”
The feeling of warmth I always felt around him overcame me again. He was almost irresistible. Almost. I had to constantly remind myself: he’s only here to snatch my gifted brother from us. Then getting the lead out. So I sat down . . . at the farthest recesses of our couch.
Pete looked over at me and groaned. “Kaaaaaate!—you’re so far away. I ambushed you today because I missed you!” He removed the plate from between us and sidled up next to me, proffering a cracker. “Peace offering?”
“No thanks.” I stared straight ahead, trying to concentrate on Tom & Jerry’s escapades.
“Please don’t be mad anymore; tell me what I can do. How about if I peel some grapes and feed them to you?” he breathed into my ear.
“Sorry—all out.” I folded my arms, hoping he wouldn’t notice the goose bumps he’d just raised on them, making me look like a freshly plucked chicken.
“Kate?” He hijacked my hand to rub his thumb along the pulse line.
A feeling of pleasure so keen it was painful rushed through me. I removed my hand and leaned forward so that I was no longer mixed up in his personal space. “Hey guys . . . we gotta get to work right after this cartoon,” I reminded.
The boys habitually complained but otherwise didn’t argue, fully engrossed in the colorful animation on the screen. I leaned back, feeling the weight of Pete’s eyes on me, so I focused on him focusing on signing my brother’s life away.
“Kate,” he tried again, “I’d like to call a truce.”
“I’d like to call BS.”
“I want to be friends.”
I want to be more. Arg! I shot him a filthy look, ignoring his searching eyes. Drawing a deep breath in through my nostrils, I closed my eyes and tried to picture him with devil horns and a tail. Didn’t work, because I just inhaled a lungful of his stimulating scent, so that he became devilishly tempting and beautiful as an angel. I let out a snarl, then stood up and snatched a cracker and lemonade off the coffee table.
“Where are you going?” Pete rose to his feet to follow me.
“Away from you,” I announced before stalking to the kitchen.
He instantly looked wounded. Don’t care I told myself as he tried to melt me with the heat of his stare. I stared back, willfully. Then had the wonderful idea of stuffing the whole cracker into my mouth. So I did, and re-answered his question. “To work,” I said, spewing out little bits of cracker.
Pete arched a brow, a smile playing on his lips. “Didn’t work—you still look ravishing.”
I rolled my eyes while I chewed and swallowed. Then, holding up my lemonade in a mock salute, I tipped it back, downed it in five loud gulps, and clunked the empty glass down on the counter to face him squarely. A trickle of lemonade had dribbled down my chin in the process, so I swiped it off with the back of my hand.
He shook his head, a wide smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. “Uh-uh. Sorry—that was just plain sexy.”
I scowled at him. He was impossible. And now his eyes began doing that smoldering thing again. “Except you missed some,” he said in a low voice I felt in weird places.
Before I could think to move, he took my face in his hands. I sucked in a breath, half-panicked, half-expectant. Closing his eyes, he slowly drew me forward. My heart started galloping wildly as I helplessly waited for his next move. He surprised me by licking off the remaining traces of sticky sweet from my chin. Stopping just shy of my lips, he opened his eyes to peek at me beneath impossibly long lashes.
“There . . . all better,” he murmured before stepping away, leaving me breathless and wanting for more.
My hand gripped counter. He was something else all right; I’d give him that. He was a friggin weapon was what he was. One he definitely knew how to use. That wasn’t playing fair, because I didn’t seem to have the same effect on him at all.
He casually called from the living room, “Hey! Bugs Bunny! My favorite!”
“Can we watch one mower, Kadee, pwease?” Mikey begged.
“Please, please, please!” Pete joined in with the boys.
Immobilized by current events, I fingered the blazing trail his warm tongue had left on my face. “Fine,” I snapped more harshly than I intended. “But right after this one, get your work clothes on and meet me out back.” Needing some time to gather myself, I stomped to my room to change into jeans and boots.
When I emerged a couple of minutes later, Pete was waiting for me with a fat grin. “All’s missing to complete my fantasy is a cowboy hat.”
I just huffed right past him, trying to hold on to my righteous indignation.
“Now where are you going?” he asked.
“To mix up the calf bottles.” I banged out the door.
A short moment later the door banged again. “I’ll help you,” he said. I tried not to feel thrilled by his choice.
He trailed behind me at a leisurely pace, whistling cheerfully as I led the way to the tin shed where we stored our feed. In no mood for his good mood, I grumbled to myself as I scooped the powdered milk into the dino-sized plastic bottles. Wasn’t fair of him to tease me this way. We were naturally falling back into old patterns: the ones where he was fun, nice, and charming . . . and I fell for it hook, line, and sinker.