hopped
onto the counter. "You didn't seriously think I was eighteen or
something."
"Not quite, but close." He studied her face
as though searching for signs of age.
She shrugged, feeling self-conscious. "It's
only genes. My mom is sixty-nine and looks like she's barely forty.
How old are you?"
"Forty."
"And you're single?" She tsked. "Some people
would wonder what's wrong with you."
"Aren't you single?"
"Yes, but everyone knows what's wrong with
me."
"And what's that?" he asked as he set a tray
of lasagna in the microwave.
"I do my own thing. Men can't handle
that."
"Some men can."
She didn't care about some men—she cared
about him. "You like independent women?"
"Yes." He leaned against the counter. "I work
a lot of hours, and most women don't understand that. They want
someone who'll be around more."
"Are you planning to work as much when you
have a family?"
"I guess I'll cross that bridge when I get to
it."
"If we had a family together, you'd have to
be available."
"Since when are we having a family
together?"
Since always. "It's non-negotiable, by the
way. Our kid doesn't need an absentee father."
"I wouldn't be an absentee father." He
checked on the lasagna, taking it out of the microwave and setting
it on the counter. "My dad was always around. I know how important
that is."
"My dad was always around too." She opened a
drawers until she found the silverware. Taking two forks, she
handed one to Rob before leaning on the counter and digging
straight into the pan. Why dirty dishes if you didn't have to?
She knew Rob stared at her, but then he
followed her lead.
"For the record," she said around a hot bite
of pasta, "I'm staying at home once the kids are born."
"Kids?"
"Homer and Ulysses." She shrugged at his
questioning look. "Start them off on a great note, don't you
think?"
"Or else spend a fortune on therapy when
they're picked on constantly in school."
She fed him a nicely crusted piece. "I know
it's very un-PC to be a stay-at-home mom, but I don't want to miss
any part of them growing up."
"I'll miss seeing your face in the mornings
at the café," he admitted.
"You won't miss my face, because I'll be
waking up with you every morning." She grinned at him. "You'll see
more than my face."
He shook his head. "You need to stop talking
like that."
"Like what?" She batted her eyelashes
innocently.
"I meant it when I said that I don't fool
around with people who work for me."
Kristin dropped her fork. "You mean that
while I'm revamping your database, there's not going to be any
monkey business?"
"Exactly."
"You're going to miss kissing me, you
know."
His gaze fell to her lips, which she licked
to punctuate her point. "Most likely," he conceded.
"You're going to miss touching me, too." She
set her fork down and trapped him against the counter, pressing
herself flush against him. "We feel perfect, touching body-to-body
like this. You can't deny that."
"No, I can't." He held her close, his fingers
running up her back.
Sighing, she arched into his caress. If only
he'd do more, or slide his hands under her shirt. "But you still
insist on this no fraternization policy?"
"Yes." He sounded torn, like he could be
swayed.
Maybe she should get someone else to do the
work for him. She knew plenty of people who were qualified. She
could pass it along and manage the job to make sure it was done
properly.
But she wanted to show him that she was on
his side, that he could trust her—what better way than showing him
she understood what he needed? The moratorium on their relationship
would only incentivize her to get the work done sooner. Everyone
would come out ahead in the end.
"Okay." She stepped away and stuck her hand
out. "Deal."
He blinked as though startled and stared at
her hand like he didn't understand what it meant. Then he shook his
head and took her hand. "Good."
The warm glide of his palm against hers made
her shiver, and she vowed this was going to be the shortest term
consulting gig
onto the counter. "You didn't seriously think I was eighteen or
something."
"Not quite, but close." He studied her face
as though searching for signs of age.
She shrugged, feeling self-conscious. "It's
only genes. My mom is sixty-nine and looks like she's barely forty.
How old are you?"
"Forty."
"And you're single?" She tsked. "Some people
would wonder what's wrong with you."
"Aren't you single?"
"Yes, but everyone knows what's wrong with
me."
"And what's that?" he asked as he set a tray
of lasagna in the microwave.
"I do my own thing. Men can't handle
that."
"Some men can."
She didn't care about some men—she cared
about him. "You like independent women?"
"Yes." He leaned against the counter. "I work
a lot of hours, and most women don't understand that. They want
someone who'll be around more."
"Are you planning to work as much when you
have a family?"
"I guess I'll cross that bridge when I get to
it."
"If we had a family together, you'd have to
be available."
"Since when are we having a family
together?"
Since always. "It's non-negotiable, by the
way. Our kid doesn't need an absentee father."
"I wouldn't be an absentee father." He
checked on the lasagna, taking it out of the microwave and setting
it on the counter. "My dad was always around. I know how important
that is."
"My dad was always around too." She opened a
drawers until she found the silverware. Taking two forks, she
handed one to Rob before leaning on the counter and digging
straight into the pan. Why dirty dishes if you didn't have to?
She knew Rob stared at her, but then he
followed her lead.
"For the record," she said around a hot bite
of pasta, "I'm staying at home once the kids are born."
"Kids?"
"Homer and Ulysses." She shrugged at his
questioning look. "Start them off on a great note, don't you
think?"
"Or else spend a fortune on therapy when
they're picked on constantly in school."
She fed him a nicely crusted piece. "I know
it's very un-PC to be a stay-at-home mom, but I don't want to miss
any part of them growing up."
"I'll miss seeing your face in the mornings
at the café," he admitted.
"You won't miss my face, because I'll be
waking up with you every morning." She grinned at him. "You'll see
more than my face."
He shook his head. "You need to stop talking
like that."
"Like what?" She batted her eyelashes
innocently.
"I meant it when I said that I don't fool
around with people who work for me."
Kristin dropped her fork. "You mean that
while I'm revamping your database, there's not going to be any
monkey business?"
"Exactly."
"You're going to miss kissing me, you
know."
His gaze fell to her lips, which she licked
to punctuate her point. "Most likely," he conceded.
"You're going to miss touching me, too." She
set her fork down and trapped him against the counter, pressing
herself flush against him. "We feel perfect, touching body-to-body
like this. You can't deny that."
"No, I can't." He held her close, his fingers
running up her back.
Sighing, she arched into his caress. If only
he'd do more, or slide his hands under her shirt. "But you still
insist on this no fraternization policy?"
"Yes." He sounded torn, like he could be
swayed.
Maybe she should get someone else to do the
work for him. She knew plenty of people who were qualified. She
could pass it along and manage the job to make sure it was done
properly.
But she wanted to show him that she was on
his side, that he could trust her—what better way than showing him
she understood what he needed? The moratorium on their relationship
would only incentivize her to get the work done sooner. Everyone
would come out ahead in the end.
"Okay." She stepped away and stuck her hand
out. "Deal."
He blinked as though startled and stared at
her hand like he didn't understand what it meant. Then he shook his
head and took her hand. "Good."
The warm glide of his palm against hers made
her shiver, and she vowed this was going to be the shortest term
consulting gig
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