recognized—and canceled their reservations. Then she changed into a casual sun dress and, leaving a note on the counter lest he wake up while she was gone, went to the local market for a pound of fresh shrimp.
Spencer was still sleeping when she returned, which pleased her tremendously. She liked the idea that he was getting the rest that he needed. She also liked the idea of making dinner, which was amusing in that she was a businesswoman, not a cook—but understandable given the maternal instincts that had taken her over in recent days. Granted, Spencer wasn't a child, but the urge to nurture was there. She looked on what she was doing as practice.
With three separate cookbooks open on the counter, she made shrimp curry, saffron rice and a cucumber salad. When Spencer slept on, she took out a fourth cookbook and whipped up a cold strawberry soup, and when she still had time to spare, she made an apple crunch for dessert. By then the sun had set, and she was wondering whether he was all right. So she went out to the darkened patio and knelt beside him. Only one eye was in sight, and it was closed. The scar running along his jaw was masked by the night and less threatening than usual. In fact, the whole of him looked less threatening than usual. He actually looked vulnerable.
Not sure whether she liked the vulnerable Spencer over the one who was in full command, she finger-combed the hair from his brow and rested a hand on his back. His skin was warm through his T-shirt, his muscles firm to the touch. "Spencer?" she called softly. "Spencer?"
He took a deep breath, then seemed to settle into sleep again.
She gave him a tiny shake. "Spencer?"
"Mmm. "
She waited to see if he would rouse. Since he clearly wasn't unconscious, if he wanted to sleep longer, she couldn't deny him. Dinner would wait.
She was about to stand, when he took another deep breath, squeezed his eye shut, then opened it a crack. His gaze hit her shoulder and stayed there for as long as it took him to realize what he was looking at. Then it lifted slowly to her face.
He looked dazed. She couldn't help but smile. "I was beginning to think you'd contracted sleeping sickness in the jungle. "
"Um-hum, " he said, without moving his mouth.
"Were you working all day?"
"Umm. "
"And last night?"
"Umm. "
"Did you finish the revisions?"
"Almost. " He yawned and shifted his head so that he could see her with both eyes. Pulling his free hand from the flagstone, he tucked it under his body. "What time is it?"
"Nearly nine. "
He grunted. "You should have woken me sooner. "
"You were tired. "
"We were supposed to go to dinner. "
"That's okay. We can eat here. I've been cooking—"
"After working all day?"
"I'm practicing. I'll have to cook for a baby whether I'm tired or not. Besides, I don't mind cooking. It's a change from my work. Of course, I can't guarantee the results. "
"That omelet was great. You're a terrific cook. "
"I'm still a novice. I haven't had much practice. "
"You didn't do it when you were growing up?"
"We always had a cook. "
"Why don't you now?"
"Because it'd be pretentious. And a waste of money. And unnecessary. I don't eat a whole lot. "
"Clearly, " he murmured. In the dark, his gaze dropped to her shoulders, then her breasts.
"I'm not too thin, " she said in self-defense. "If I didn't watch what I eat, I'd get fat. "
He frowned. "When you were younger, weren't you a little... "
"Fat?"
"Not fat. "
"Chubby, " she put in.
"Not chubby. Solid. "
"That's, uh, one way to put it. Our cook was too good. "
"Made brownies all the time, eh?" he asked.
She remembered the plate she'd brought to him the night before. When she'd left for work, there had been a few brownies left, but they were gone when she returned. Not that Spencer had to worry about his weight. He was lean but solid, which, on a man, was a wonderful thing.
"Yes, she made brownies, " Jenna admitted with a sigh, "and lots of other incredibly fattening things.
Spencer was still sleeping when she returned, which pleased her tremendously. She liked the idea that he was getting the rest that he needed. She also liked the idea of making dinner, which was amusing in that she was a businesswoman, not a cook—but understandable given the maternal instincts that had taken her over in recent days. Granted, Spencer wasn't a child, but the urge to nurture was there. She looked on what she was doing as practice.
With three separate cookbooks open on the counter, she made shrimp curry, saffron rice and a cucumber salad. When Spencer slept on, she took out a fourth cookbook and whipped up a cold strawberry soup, and when she still had time to spare, she made an apple crunch for dessert. By then the sun had set, and she was wondering whether he was all right. So she went out to the darkened patio and knelt beside him. Only one eye was in sight, and it was closed. The scar running along his jaw was masked by the night and less threatening than usual. In fact, the whole of him looked less threatening than usual. He actually looked vulnerable.
Not sure whether she liked the vulnerable Spencer over the one who was in full command, she finger-combed the hair from his brow and rested a hand on his back. His skin was warm through his T-shirt, his muscles firm to the touch. "Spencer?" she called softly. "Spencer?"
He took a deep breath, then seemed to settle into sleep again.
She gave him a tiny shake. "Spencer?"
"Mmm. "
She waited to see if he would rouse. Since he clearly wasn't unconscious, if he wanted to sleep longer, she couldn't deny him. Dinner would wait.
She was about to stand, when he took another deep breath, squeezed his eye shut, then opened it a crack. His gaze hit her shoulder and stayed there for as long as it took him to realize what he was looking at. Then it lifted slowly to her face.
He looked dazed. She couldn't help but smile. "I was beginning to think you'd contracted sleeping sickness in the jungle. "
"Um-hum, " he said, without moving his mouth.
"Were you working all day?"
"Umm. "
"And last night?"
"Umm. "
"Did you finish the revisions?"
"Almost. " He yawned and shifted his head so that he could see her with both eyes. Pulling his free hand from the flagstone, he tucked it under his body. "What time is it?"
"Nearly nine. "
He grunted. "You should have woken me sooner. "
"You were tired. "
"We were supposed to go to dinner. "
"That's okay. We can eat here. I've been cooking—"
"After working all day?"
"I'm practicing. I'll have to cook for a baby whether I'm tired or not. Besides, I don't mind cooking. It's a change from my work. Of course, I can't guarantee the results. "
"That omelet was great. You're a terrific cook. "
"I'm still a novice. I haven't had much practice. "
"You didn't do it when you were growing up?"
"We always had a cook. "
"Why don't you now?"
"Because it'd be pretentious. And a waste of money. And unnecessary. I don't eat a whole lot. "
"Clearly, " he murmured. In the dark, his gaze dropped to her shoulders, then her breasts.
"I'm not too thin, " she said in self-defense. "If I didn't watch what I eat, I'd get fat. "
He frowned. "When you were younger, weren't you a little... "
"Fat?"
"Not fat. "
"Chubby, " she put in.
"Not chubby. Solid. "
"That's, uh, one way to put it. Our cook was too good. "
"Made brownies all the time, eh?" he asked.
She remembered the plate she'd brought to him the night before. When she'd left for work, there had been a few brownies left, but they were gone when she returned. Not that Spencer had to worry about his weight. He was lean but solid, which, on a man, was a wonderful thing.
"Yes, she made brownies, " Jenna admitted with a sigh, "and lots of other incredibly fattening things.
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