But Rachel wasn’t like that. She never drank. She didn’t flirt and she didn’t lie. She told the truth even when it embarrassed her. She wanted Sebastian, but she’d made no attempt to use sex to manipulate him.
She was perhaps one of the few totally honest women of his acquaintance.
Realizing that made him all the more eager to get home to her.
“What is that incredible smell?”
Rachel spun away from the stove where she had been adding the last minute spices to a pan of simmering curry chicken and landed smack against the immovable wall that was Sebastian.
His hands clamped on her arms before she could move away and his head lowered until his lips were almost touching hers. “Now this is the way a man likes to be greeted after a trying day.”
Then his mouth finished its descent, slanting over hers with lazy affection. The scent of his expensive aftershave still clung to him from the morning, but it mixed with the smell of his skin to turn her bones to a jelly-like substance not intended to support her body in a vertical position.
Sagging against him, she clung to his shoulders, glad for his still firm grip on her arms. She had no defenses left against him and her body was making emphatic statements of desire in secret, tender places.
He must have had a glass of ouzo recently, she thought dizzily, the licorice flavor permeating her taste buds as his tongue penetrated her mouth. She loved his taste, his scent and the feel of his hard body against hers. Each of her senses was filled to over-flowing with his presence.
Time ceased to mean anything and firm, masculine lips molded her own in one drugging kiss after another. His hands moved from her arms to her back, pressing her already pliant body into his firmness.
Something buzzed in the background, but she couldn’t think what it was, and honestly didn’t care.
However, Sebastian pulled his lips from hers, causing her to moan in protest and try to catch his mouth again with hungry lips.
He kissed her once, firmly, and then set her away from him. “Something is done, I think.”
“Wh-what?” She couldn’t think of anything but him, didn’t want to look anywhere but at his beloved face.
“Dinner, pethi mou.” He turned her around to face the stove.
And her mind kicked into gear. The curry. She scrambled to turn off burners and pull the caramel flan she’d made for dessert from the oven. Nothing looked burned and she breathed out a sigh of relief.
“I told my housekeeper to inform you of my intention to eat out tonight.”
Was that a criticism that she’d decided to cook?
She could not tell from his voice and was too busy removing the flan cups from the still simmering water to look at him. “You sounded tired the last time I spoke to you on the phone. I thought eating in would be more relaxing.”
“You did not have to cook.”
She turned to face him, biting her lower lip. “I’m sorry if I’ve overstepped the mark.”
His shook his head, his expression wry. “You did not overstep, but you have surprised me.”
“Good. That was the whole idea.” She smiled at him. “I hope you like curry.”
“I love it.”
She’d thought that might be the case when she’d found pretty much all the ingredients she needed already stocked in the kitchen’s large pantry.
He took a shower while she put the food on the table.
He joined her, wearing a pair of jeans and a ribbed cotton shirt and looking like an advertisement for Men’s Fitness Magazine. It was all she could do not to drool.
“I’ve never had a woman cook for me before.” He surveyed the serving dishes filled with rice, chicken curry and spicy grilled vegetables. “It is a novel experience.”
She started serving the food. “Good novel, or bad novel?”
“Definitely good. It makes me feel indulged.” He reached out and touched her, his fingertips trailing down her arm, leaving shivery goose bumps behind. “I am usually the one doing the pampering.”
She didn’t like the reminder he had more pillow friends than silk ties, and it made her insecure.
She arranged the food on her plate with no desire to taste any of it and refused to meet his eyes. “I’m sure the other women in your life are far too sophisticated to enjoy a meal at home and an old movie on the television afterward.”
She must seem so gauche to him. She knew the women in his world didn’t do the domestic bit, so why had she?
Because she liked to and her newly acknowledged love had demanded an expression.
When he’d called that afternoon to tell her he would be later than expected, he’d sounded exhausted, discouraged even. She had wanted to do something to help, but what was the point?
He had a housekeeper who could cook for him if he wanted to eat in. She would have spent the afternoon better occupied in an attempt to improve her image than acquainting herself with his kitchen.
“So is that what is on offer for later?”
“What?” Her head jolted up and she met his slate gaze, having lost the train of the conversation with her mental rambling.
“A movie.”
“If you like.”
He smiled and some of the tension inside her dissipated. “I like.”
He took a bite of his dinner with every evidence of enjoyment and she followed suit, appreciating the burst of spicy sensation from the curry.
“How did you know I liked classic movies?” he asked a few minutes later.
“I didn’t, but I’m glad you do.” Or was he just trying to be kind? “Look, we don’t have to watch it if you don’t want to. This scene must seem pretty tame to you.”
She indicated the table and her own less than perfectly coifed appearance. Her knee length khaki straight skirt and casual knit top would have been perfect for an evening at home in California, but were too sloppy for dinner with a man like Sebastian, she now appreciated.
Oh, well. She could hardly run into her room and change without looking like an idiot.
Sebastian had stopped eating and was looking at her.
She paused with her fork midway to her mouth. “What?”
“I like it.”
“You like it?” She really wasn’t grasping the conversation tonight.
“I enjoy being pampered. I like that you did all this for me and I like the idea of spending a couple of hours with you cuddled against me while we watch a movie.”
“I don’t fit in your world very well, Sebastian.” She’d never fit in her mother’s either. She wasn’t the rich and famous type.
“Did I not just say I liked all this?” He looked confused.
“Yes, but you’re simply being kind.”
“I’m being honest.” He frowned at her. “Do not spoil a special night doubting my sincerity.”
Her breath caught in her throat. “Special?”
“Yes. Special. Believe it or not, the effort you