“You really did miss me,” he said, easing back. He looked down into her eyes.
Stephanie glanced away, the instant of vulnerability broken. She shrugged. “A little.” She turned her back toward him and busied herself with unpacking the groceries.
“Why is it so hard for you to admit your feelings?”
“I do admit my feelings.”
“Maybe when it comes to a client or a new campaign or your friends or the spa, but not when it comes to me, Steph.” He stepped closer. “I know that you care. I can see it in your eyes. I feel it in your body when we make love, but you won’t let yourself admit it out loud. Maybe not even to yourself.”
She felt her body stiffen. Why couldn’t he just leave things the way they were? They got along fine, they enjoyed each other’s company, they were great in bed together. That should be enough.
“Okay. I give up. I’ll leave it alone. I can tell this isn’t something you want to discuss.” He wandered over to the other side of the room and sat down at the kitchen table. “Something smells good.”
“Chicken soup.”
“You’re kidding.”
She spun around to face him, hands on hips, a look of challenge gleaming in her brown eyes. “I beg your pardon.”
“Well, let’s be honest, Steph, finding your way around a kitchen isn’t one of your strong suits.” His right brow rose for emphasis.
She tossed a dish towel at him, which he snatched out of the air in midflight. “Very funny. I’m talented in other areas,” she said with a petulant grin.
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