She stood there, expectantly, during his entire internal debate, her hand stuck out and her lips curved into what seemed like a genuine smile. Fine. He could play Hyde, too, if that’s what she wanted.
Lucas took her hand. Her grip was firm, not timid like some girls, especially the ones who liked to play all delicate, but like a woman who was confident in who she was and what she was doing. A woman who shook hands over business deals on a regular basis. A woman who would give one hell of a hand job.
Jesus.
Lucas dropped her hand, then headed to the pantry with one of the bags of food, which also gave him an opportunity to adjust his fly because that semi was now full blown.
“Need any more help?” she asked, interrupting his attempts to run through the Braves’ starting lineup while his dick headed to the locker room for a cold shower.
“Nah, all good.” He emerged from the pantry to find her perched atop one of the kitchen stools. “Did you eat?”
Her eyes darted to the box of cereal he’d left on the counter. “No, not yet.”
No dig on the Loops? She must have been serious about the truce, because even Maddie would have had something to say about the end-of-the-box crumbs.
“Gotta admit, I was a bit stumped over what to get a vegetarian for breakfast. I mean, are eggs okay? If not, I have oatmeal.” At the store, he’d been mainly concerned about getting a few items that weren’t most commonly found on a kids’ menu, but now he found himself wanting to make her something she might actually enjoy.
“Eggs are fine. I’m not a vegan.”
“So just a run-of-the-mill veg head?”
Her head fell back on a laugh that was not at all what he expected. Based on their first meeting, he would have expected her laugh to be a harsh, shrill sound. Not something so delicate and joyful. “Sorry,” she said when she caught her breath. “I’ve just never heard that slang before. But if you want to be specific, I’m a pescatarian.”
The look on his face must have been as blank as his brain was at the moment because she offered more of an explanation.
“It means I eat fish but not meat, and that I also eat dairy and eggs.”
He clapped his hands together. “Then a veggie omelet it is.” Omelets were one of the few items Lucas cooked with complete confidence. It was like the meat loaf of breakfast, if you really thought about it. Just throw everything in a bowl, mix it up, and cook it. “But first, coffee.” He cringed as he heard the words coming out of his mouth. Sophie had a light-up sign on the counter in her kitchen that said exactly that. But first, coffee. It even had a motion sensor that caused it to blink when she walked into the room in the morning. Needless to say, it was annoying as hell. He’d ridiculed her when she set it up, and nearly every day since then, but now there he was quoting the damn thing. Judging by the smile on his guest’s face, she’d seen a similar sign or meme or T-shirt and knew exactly what he’d done.
To his surprise, she didn’t bust his balls. Instead she complimented his coffee choice.
“Nice blend,” she said, picking up the silver pouch.
“You don’t have to seem so shocked.”
“What can I say? I half expected instant.”
Not too much of a stretch, given the hospitality level to date. “I may eat frozen pizza,” he said, feigning offense. “But I’m not an animal.”
They both laughed—and not in a forced polite way, but a genuine laugh shared between two people who’d found a common ground. No coffee pun intended.
Lucas reached into the cabinet above the stove and pulled out a chrome-and-glass French press.
“Wow, now I’m really impressed. Most guys would just use a Mr. Coffee.”
Lucas stilled. The French press had been Jenny’s idea. She thought it would give their little inn a more sophisticated vibe. She’d intended to buy something to grind her own beans, too, but she never had the chance. There was so much she never had the chance to do…
“You okay?”
He looked up to meet his guest’s gaze and was surprised to find it filled with genuine concern. “Yeah, why?” he asked, trying to shake off the fog that encased him far too often.
“You just looked really serious all of a sudden.”
“Well, coffee is serious business.” He opened the silver pouch and began to scoop grounds into the glass carafe. “I got this,” he said. “Why don’t you go relax—rain or not, it’s still your vacation—and I’ll let you know when the coffee and eggs are ready.”
* * *
Go relax.
The words felt more like a dismissal than hospitality, and for the life of her, Paige couldn’t figure out why. Sure, they’d had a horrible first meeting, but this morning things had seemed better. Friendly even. She’d even go so far as to say her host had been a little flirty. She’d definitely caught him looking at her boobs. Then again, most guys looked at Paige’s boobs. She’d spent her teenage years hunched over in an attempt to minimize them. But in college all that had changed. She decided to embrace her curves, and by the time she was in her midtwenties, she was actively dressing to accentuate her ta-tas. Not at work though. Never at work. But this wasn’t a business situation, and Lucas Croft was definitely not a client, although he could certainly use the benefit of services like hers. But truth be told, even the compulsively organized clean-freak side of her could look the other way for an afternoon with her handsome host in her four-poster bed. Hell, she’d even get down and dirty with him on that mattress on the floor.
Mattress on the floor.
What was she thinking?
The whole reason she’d come downstairs ready to propose a truce was because of what she’d seen in the bedrooms upstairs. Whatever had happened to the woman and child in the photographs, one thing was certain: Lucas Croft was a man in pain. One, who from the sounds of it, hadn’t even wanted to be back in the innkeeper business. Given all that, she could hardly hold his rude behavior against him. Nope. Instead there she was, thinking about him holding her against him.
It was official: she was a horrible person.
Maybe he hadn’t noticed the way her nipples hardened when he stared at her chest. Or the way her cheeks flushed when his hazel eyes locked on hers. Of course some of that flush was due to nearly being caught snooping around his house. She was lucky she hadn’t sprained her ankle hightailing it out of that bedroom.
Lusting after her heartbroken host and snooping through his house? Yeah, she was making the folks on Big Brother Island, or whatever that show was called, look like upstanding citizens.
Her phone vibrated in her pocket. It was her mother, which made perfect sense seeing as how the woman was the Beetlejuice of bad decisions. Without fail, every time Paige had so much as a questionable thought, let alone action, her mother would call or text. She swore the woman had some sort of sixth sense. At least Paige didn’t have to say her mother’s name three times. That, and the fact that her head didn’t spin in a three-sixty on her shoulders.