“I did?”
“Yeah, you did. Why?”
Gen turned away from her friend’s probing gaze. God, she’d wanted to forget. The man she loved and wanted for so long finally proposed, and before she gave her answer, she’d needed to look into Wolfe’s eyes. He’d been standing on the edge of the crowd, face hard and frozen. What had she wanted from him? Approval? A smile? Or something else?
Their gazes locked, and raw heat licked at her nerve endings—a promise and threat in those aqua depths that scared her. It had all happened so fast. For one crazy instant, she opened her mouth to tell David no. But something passed, and Wolfe turned away, and her family was staring, with David on bended knee, and she said the only word she could, and thought she wanted to.
Yes.
“I don’t remember.” Kate’s silence was almost worse than the lie. Guilt struck, but she didn’t want to think about that day ever again. “Can I ask one more question? And then I promise to never say another word.”
“Sure.”
“Did you ever feel the touch with me and Wolfe?” Kate jerked. Shock radiated from her in waves. Why had she asked such a stupid thing? She didn’t want to know. They were friends, not soul mates. “Forget it, you don’t have to answer. My brain is mush from lack of sleep last night.”
“No.”
Gen held her breath. “No, you haven’t?”
“I sense a connection with you both, but never had the touch. I’m sorry.”
Gen forced a laugh. “Don’t be silly, I never expected you to. I’m still not sure why I asked.”
“I think you do, sweetie.”
She refused to analyze her comment. Gen smiled brightly and grabbed the files. “I’m going to input this into the computer, and then Kennedy is taking me to a makeover session so I can see what goes on behind the scenes.”
Kate nodded, allowing the retreat. “Let me know if you need anything. We’re trying to plan a girls’ night out this weekend. You in?”
“Absolutely. Cocktails and gossip is exactly what I need.”
She went back to work, trying to ignore the rush of disappointment. Maybe in some screwed-up way she was dealing with her breakup by spinning odd fantasies about her and Wolfe. Sure, the kiss had been wonderful, but they’d never repeat it. They treasured their relationship too much to cross the line into sex, especially if there was no future for them to fight for. Kate had never felt the touch. Therefore, they were never meant to be more than friends. And this was good.
Very good.
Sixteen
I DON’T LIKE BRUSSELS sprouts.”
Gen glanced over and noticed the toddler’s sulk. With his tattoos, piercings, and massive muscles, it fell a bit flat. “Tough. They’re good for you. You’ll like the way I make them.” She pulled the pan out and tested them with a fork. Deliciously crispy on the edges, they tasted like heaven with the olive oil and seasonings. She’d learned early that roasting anything makes it tasty. “Can you double-check the biscuits? I tend to burn them.”
He popped open the toaster oven and peered inside like it was a Scooby-Doo! mystery. “They’re kinda brown.”
“Shoot. Turn off the oven, please, and put them on that plate over there.”
His large hands fumbled a bit and she held in a laugh. Wolfe dominated the small kitchen by his looming presence, but seemed a bit intimidated by each task. She swore he’d learn to cook a few things while he stayed there. He needed some survival techniques in the domestic zone. He figured out they needed butter, fished around, and put it on the table. The mismatched china and uneven glasses would’ve given David a heart attack. When they first got together, she was a disaster in the kitchen, preferring takeout or a bowl of cereal for dinner. He’d quickly divested her of that attitude, insisting she needed to cook a homemade meal in preparation for their family and upcoming dinner parties. Soon she was able to set a stunning table, with silverware in its right place and the napkin neatly rolled up. She’d stopped burning most things, learned to follow a recipe, and resented every moment when David ate the first bite, waiting to proclaim his opinion.
Gen smiled at the messy place settings, chipped dinnerware, and cramped pine table covered with the assortment of pans lined up. It was . . . perfect. Even the burned biscuits yelled a big fuck you to her ex-fiancé. How many times had he clucked his tongue in disappointment at her inability to serve a decent biscuit?
Personally, she liked them crispy. But she still burned them. “Sorry about the biscuits.”
He snorted. “You kidding me? The last time I had biscuits was back in Italy. I always liked them burned a bit anyway.”
Gen laughed, her heart a bit lighter. “Me, too.” She poured two glasses of Chianti and sat down to eat. Wolfe bent his head and closed his eyes. She watched in fascination at the humble act of honoring his food. When he grabbed a biscuit and slathered butter on it, he caught her staring.
“What?”
“I never noticed you saying grace before.”
A tinge of red flushed his cheeks. Another thing she loved about him. Big and bad, playboy millionaire, with a tendency to blush. Did it get any better than that? “Mama Conte always said every meal is a gift. There was a time in my life I had to scramble for food on a daily basis. I ate from the garbage a lot. After eating home-cooked meals awhile, it didn’t take much to give thanks for getting out of the shit that was my life.”
Her heart tugged, but she concentrated on her food, knowing this was a delicate line. Gen knew little about his past, and the pinky promise they had shared solidified his intent to keep it that way. There was a darkness he carried with him she was always aware of. She regularly let him know she was willing to listen and be a friend if he ever wanted to talk. He’d nod, thank her, and remain silent.