Fudgeballs And Other Sweets by Lori Copeland Page A

overpowering, like Nancy’s perfume. But it was intoxicating.
    A few moments of massage, and he knew he’d better get up while he could. Simply being with her aroused him. Touching her tempted him to do so much more. He guided her shoulders against the couch, stood and put a throw pillow on top of the coffee table.
    â€œWhat are you doing?” she asked.
    â€œMaking madam comfortable. What’s all this?” he asked, moving aside a stack of receipts strewn on the table.
    â€œMy tax records. I have to get a financial report together—”
    â€œNot tonight, you don’t. Tonight you relax.”
    He slipped her sneakers off and placed her bare feet on the cushion. Even her feet inspired ideas he shouldn’t have, but feet were safer than thinking about her breasts. It was already too late to keep from getting aroused.
    She smiled, pulling her foot away when he began rubbing the bottom. “That tickles.”
    â€œJust hold still. Apparently I’m not pressing hard enough.”
    His thumbs circled the pad of her foot while his fingers massaged the top. He felt her relax and her leg go limp.
    She leaned back and closed her eyes. “Mmm. Spaghetti Kasada and a foot rub. What did I do to deserve this?”
    He grinned as contentment spread over her face. He pulled her foot close against him and massaged her ankle and up her calf. Her warmth was contagious. So was she, he realized. He’d be more than happy to let dinner burn if he could take her in his arms and—
    The tightening in his groin was painful. He was wrong. Feet weren’t safe enough.
    â€œHow’s Jake?”
    â€œA little testy, but I gave him a T-bone steak before I left. He seemed in a better mood.”
    â€œI am sorry about the incident this afternoon, but it really wasn’t my fault.”
    â€œI know.” He massaged the foot, admiring her polish. “I like the shade. What’s it called?”
    â€œI have no idea,” Jenny murmured, stretching lazily. “Something I picked up at the salon.”
    The cloth of her T-shirt tightened over her breasts. His gaze was riveted to the seductive sight, and he realized the massage was a bad idea, period.
    He eased her foot to the cushion and released it, but her eyes snapped open, making his escape harder than he thought. “I think the sauce is burning.”
    â€œNeed help?”
    A lot of it. “No, stay where you are.”
    Â 
    FULL OF SPAGHETTI, cheese bread and salad, they convened to the couch around nine.
    Jenny covered her stomach with her hands and moaned. “I ate too much.”
    Settling back, Dave stretched out. “I’m glad you liked it. I enjoy cooking.”
    He could feel her studying him. What was she thinking? Was she wondering why he wasn’t still married? Good question. David knew he was solid, dependable, a smart businessman, he’d like to think a good father. Was she wondering what happened to break up his marriage? Was it him, was it her?
    â€œYou don’t seem the domestic type. I had you figured for a man who eats at the finest restaurants, has dinner parties catered—”
    â€œThat’s how it was when Nancy and I were married,” he admitted. “She never cooked, and I didn’t know how, but after the divorce, I discovered the joys of eating at home.”
    â€œOh? That’s a joy?” She laughed.
    â€œI think so. During a blue funk period, I was lying on the couch, watching a chef on Oprah, and I thought, ‘I can do that.”’
    â€œNo kidding? One episode of Oprah, and you became a chef?”
    â€œJust like that.” He snapped his fingers. “What about you? I’ll bet you can whip up a mean meal.”
    She shook her head. “Not really. Fudge is my specialty. In a pinch, I can throw a few things together out of a can and make a passable casserole. I’m mostly a breakfast person.”
    â€œOmelets? Eggs