Sophie stood outside the condo building of one grumpy Grayson Gregory Wyatt and wondered at what point she’d completely lost her mind.
She also wondered what kind of uptight fool advertises a full name like Grayson Gregory on their building call box.
I’m going to kill Jenna.
Gray’s sister had only been in town for a week, but Jenna had firmly inserted herself into Sophie’s life as though they’d been lifelong friends. Shopping trips, happy hour at the local wine bar, spa day…
And now this.
She’d known exactly what Jenna was up to when she’d suggested dinner. Sophie was a little sister herself. She knew all about the set-up-the-big-sibling routine. Sophie had gone through a brief phase of matchmaker, trying to set Brynn up with the wrong men.
She knew firsthand that these things never went well.
But Gray’s eyes had been begging her to decline.
So of course she’d had to accept.
Plus, the three of them clearly didn’t have the whole “family” thing figured out. Not that the Daltons were perfect, but at least they didn’t avoid conversation with one another. If Gray was left to his own devices, he’d end up treating the twins like either children or clients.
If anyone needed to build solid familial relationships it was Gray Wyatt.
But what had sounded like a harmless idea on Tuesday was a lot more daunting when she was actually standing in front of her boss’s condo building on a Friday evening.
Sophie thought uncomfortably of the last Friday night she’d spent with him in the office. She certainly didn’t need a repeat of those uncomfortable emotions.
At least tonight the twins would be there as a buffer. No chance of her getting the hots for her sulky employer with his siblings looking on. She glanced up at the high-rise condo building. It looked like a museum. No doubt, the interior of his condo would be more of the same. Monochromatic, cool, and tidy. Boring.
Still, a promise was a promise, and so here she was. Sophie slowly reached out and punched the button next to his pretentious-as-shit name. Dinner in a restaurant would have been awkward enough, but actually going to her boss’s home officially crossed the fragile boundary between professional and personal. She had no idea why Gray had agreed to it, but it could have something to do with the fact that Jenna had the personality of a Rottweiler and biceps like Jillian Michaels. One did not mess with her master plan.
A flash of sanity demanded that Sophie turn and run, but then she heard Gray’s rough voice on the tinny intercom.
“Yeah?”
“It’s me,” she said.
“Sophie?”
“Um, no, this is Mimi, the hooker from Vegas? You called for a genital massage?” She smiled at the elderly couple approaching the building, hoping they were hard of hearing.
“I’m so amused,” Gray’s voice crackled through the intercom. “I hope you like Top Ramen, because that’s all you’re—”
Sophie punched the call button again to end the cheery discussion and scooted in the front door behind the couple. They turned to size her up, and she gave them her sweetest smile. “You don’t mind if I slide in behind you, do you? My boyfriend’s a little grumpy because I forgot it was our one-month anniversary. Honestly, how is a busy woman supposed to remember these little things?”
The blue-haired woman’s expression softened, and she patted Sophie’s shoulder. “Oh, don’t you stress about a thing, dear. Men pretend they don’t care about that stuff, but they’re so sensitive! Walter here pouted for a nearly two hours when he thought I’d forgotten our forty-eighth wedding anniversary.”
Walter harrumphed, sending his white mustache twitching. “That’s bollocks. I was just upset that the tennis tournament got canceled for those blasted cheerleading competitions!”
“I didn’t exactly see you reaching for the remote to turn the station away from those scandalous little skirts.”
Walter flushed slightly. “My arthritis was acting up, Joyce. You know I can’t just go gallivanting around the living room trying to find the remote.”
The little woman rolled her eyes at Sophie. “You see what I mean? They’re sensitive. Now you go right on up there and make amends with your man. Cook him a nice meal and maybe give him a little nookie!”
Sophie smothered a smile at the throwback to a different era. She didn’t have the heart to tell Joyce that “her man” would actually be cooking her dinner, and that nookie was so not an option.
Saying good-bye to the now-bickering couple, Sophie found her way to Gray’s apartment, giving a perky knock. She tugged nervously at the hem of her tight white sweater. She knew this wasn’t a date, of course. But maybe she’d taken a few extra minutes getting ready.
And the results were worth it. She was wearing her cutest (and tightest) jeans, and the sweater she’d just picked up from Nordstrom. The cashmere kept it classy while the tight fit made it sexy. Not that she wanted to be sexy. He finally answered the door, and all thoughts of her own appearance vanished.
Because Gray looked…gorgeous.
She realized this was the first time since dinner at her parents that she’d seen him outside of a suit, and while he admittedly filled out a suit very nicely, casual was a surprisingly good look on him. He wore dark jeans that were either designer or personally made for him, because he looked like a freaking male model. The gray sweater was layered over a crisp white shirt and made his eyes look, well…actually they looked downright stormy and pissed.
But it was a sexy picture nonetheless.
“How’d you get into the building?”
“It’s called charm—I’ll write a report on it on Monday so you can begin to understand the how the concept works. Short version: you smile at people and they like you more.”
His scowl deepened and he braced an arm on the doorway, blocking her entrance.
“Okay.” She sighed. “I can see I’m moving you along too fast on the path toward not being a dick. Lesson number one: invite me in.”
“Jenna’s not coming.”
Sophie blinked at that. “Why not? Is everything okay?”
“Oh, everything is fine. Just some apparent stomach bug,” he replied.
She chewed her lip. This was not ideal. Although Sophie was technically here to provide a buffer among the Wyatt siblings, what she really needed was a buffer between her and Gray. This would be all the more awkward with just herself, the two brothers, and no fellow female influence.
“I hope she’s okay,” Sophie said. “You and Jack must be bummed to not see her on her last night in town.”
“Oh, I’m not so sure Jack won’t be seeing her,” Gray muttered, still not inviting her in.
Sophie had gotten pretty good at interpreting this man’s moods and mumbles, but she was now officially confused.
“What’s going on?” she asked pointedly, folding her arms self-consciously across her chest.
“We’ve been set up,” he said, not meeting her eyes. “Jack thought dinner tonight was canceled, and I don’t think Jenna ever had any intention of showing up.”
Suddenly everything became clear in Sophie’s mind, and she couldn’t help but laugh at how well Jenna had played her cards. The setup was even more blatant than Sophie had expected.
“Why are you giggling?” He glanced at her sharply, as though surprised to see her still there.
“Just admiring your sister’s tactics. Well, the least you can do is let me in. I’m guessing you cooked for four, right? You may as well feed me.”
“I’m not so sure this is a good idea,” he said.
“Oh, it’s a horrible idea. This will be a complete disaster,” she agreed, slipping under his arm and scooting into his apartment. “But it’ll build your character.”
“Fine, but don’t expect me to entertain you. You eat, then you leave. I have things to do.”
She laid a hand on his arm. As expected, he stiffened, but she kept her hand there anyway. She couldn’t help it. She was by nature a warm, affectionate person, and she was tired of always trying to hide that around him. Besides, if anyone needed a little dose of harmless human contact, it was this man of stone.
“I’ll leave if you want,” she said, meaning it. “But I’ll be stuck going home to a dinner of cereal, and whatever you have cooking in here smells amazing.”
He stared at the spot above her head before nodding shortly. “Sorry about this. I never meant for you to get caught up in the disaster that is my family dynamics.”
“Relax, Gray. I’m glad to be here. Besides, it might be good for you. I know too well that one-on-one interactions are not your forte. Practice can’t hurt.”
Sophie froze, realizing how that had sounded. She had practically proposed a date. With her boss. Who didn’t like her.
She ordered her impulsive brain to back the heck out of this impending disaster. But then Gray frowned. And for some reason, his reluctance solidified her resolve. She had promised to help him with his innate lack of social skills. Who said that had to be exclusive to the office?
And besides, she was starving.
“You’re my assistant,” he said. “This just seems…wrong.”
“Don’t be such a stiff. It’s just one night, and nobody has to know. On Monday you can go back to grumbling orders to Ms. Dalton. And if you’re on good behavior tonight, I may even start calling you Mr. Wyatt in the office as a little reward.”
“Indefinitely?”
“Let’s say for one day. For Monday, I promise to be perfectly respectful and boring. If you can go the entire night maintaining the facade that you’re interested in me for more than my filing skills, then I’ll even call you sir. Deal?”
His eyes lit at the idea of a challenge. “You’re meaning to tell me that you’ll actually be docile and unobtrusive for an entire day if I pretend you’re my girlfriend?”
Sophie’s heart seemed to skip for a split second at the word “girlfriend.” That hadn’t been what she’d meant by this little experiment.
And yet she still wasn’t turning and running. She pasted a smile on her face as though she played these kinds of charades every day.
“Eh, let’s say almost-girlfriend,” Sophie said with a nervous smile. “Let’s pretend it’s the third date, and that we’re moving in the direction of a committed relationship.”
There. That seemed harmless enough.
He ran a hand over his short dark hair. “This is insane. I don’t know why the hell I agreed to this dinner in the first place, and now I’m stuck with you.”
“That’s lovely. I have to say, you’re a pretty awful boyfriend so far.”
“Sorry,” he said gruffly. “That was rude. I’m never at my best around you.”
His eyes seemed to warm a moment, and be still her little stupid heart, but she almost wished that he was interested in her for real. Then again, he hadn’t even once glanced down at her strategic sweater. Clearly he wasn’t interested in her as a woman.
So much for my investment in a push-up bra that weighs more than a Thanksgiving turkey, she thought.
“Lesson number two,” Sophie said, setting her purse down and shrugging off her coat. “Always offer the lady a drink.”
She started to set her coat on top of her purse, but he snatched it from her and hung it in the hall closet. “Very good,” she said. “That was a test.”
“It’s not like I’ve never had a guest over before. I’m not completely without manners.”
The way he stalked toward the kitchen sort of undermined his claim on manners, but she let it go. Baby steps.
Peering around curiously, she took her first look at Gray’s condo. She almost grinned when she saw it was exactly what she’d expected. The floor seemed to be made of honest-to-God concrete. There were a couple of cool-toned area rugs to break it up, but still. Concrete was concrete.
The walls were a shocking white, softened only by a handful of depressing-looking metal structures. Either he’d completely overpaid his decorator or he’d gone shopping himself at Home Depot. The living room off to her right was clearly unused, and she wandered into his personal office, running her hand over the built-in bookshelves.
This room at least had a bit of warmth. She wondered if it was the only one he spent any time in. The walls were still white, but a large colorful painting of an old-fashioned bar took up one wall, and the other held a few photographs, most of them pictures of Jenna and Jack.
She could easily picture him here, relaxed in the large leather easy chair with some brainy book in his lap and a glass of whiskey on the side table. What the man really needed was a dog. Maybe a Labrador or a spaniel. Something friendly to sit by his feet and banish that chronic look of loneliness the man wore around him like a cape.
Sensing eyes on her back, she turned around and saw Gray standing in the doorway, two wineglasses in hand.
“Don’t you ever read fiction?” Sophie asked, accepting the wineglass he handed her. “There are dozens of biographies, and not a single one seems to be fewer than a thousand pages.”
Gray gestured to the bookcase on the far end of the room. “Take a look at the top shelf.”
Sophie wandered that way, taking a sip of excellent Chardonnay. She immediately saw what he wanted her to see and a laugh bubbled out. “Harry Potter? Really?”
He shrugged. “Biographies are my preferred reading material, but I enjoy well-written fiction once in a while. Plus I wanted to see what all of the hype was about.”
“You reading about a boy wizard.” She shook her head, completely unable to picture it.
“Quit snooping through my stuff. Come into the kitchen.”
She followed him out of the office, pleased to see that he seemed more relaxed than when he’d first opened the door. Maybe it was just the lack of pinstripes, but he didn’t have his usual wary expression. Jeans suited the man, Sophie thought. She found herself studying a surprisingly yummy-looking backside.
“Quit checking out my ass.”
She choked on her wine. Caught.
“I’m just mentally cataloging potential areas of improvement on behalf of your future wife. Do men do squats, or is that more of a Hollywood actress exercise? And—wow. Look at this kitchen!”
Her exclamation earned her what might have been a half smile. “I like to cook.”
“So do I, but I don’t have like five ovens,” she said, looking around in awe. The kitchen was a restaurant-sized industrial masterpiece. This was no standard-issue luxury kitchen. It was clearly custom-built for someone who knew their way around food.
“I’m a little embarrassed to have assumed the extent of your cooking skills was toast,” she said with chagrin. “Did I really force delivery pizza on you with the mistaken assumption that it was the best meal you’d have all week?”
“I didn’t mind,” Gray said, not unkindly.
Sophie snorted. “Says the man who has about a dozen French cookbooks whose names I can’t pronounce.”
She plucked one of the fancy cookbooks from the shelf and was surprised to see that it wasn’t just for show. It was splattered and creased and littered with his neat handwriting.
“What I’m making tonight is actually from that book,” he said, nodding toward the cookbook in her hand. “There’ll be more than enough food since I was assuming a party of four, but I think we can make a pretty good dent.”
“I’ll pretend you didn’t just imply your fake girlfriend was fat.”
He gave her a look. “You know you’re not fat, Sophie.”
She raised an eyebrow. He was flirting now? Nah. Then his gaze finally drifted down briefly to her chest.
Okay, maybe flirting.
Perhaps the bra and new sweater had been worth it after all. Brynn had been right. There were ways other than obvious cleavage to call attention to the girls.
Thinking about her sister made her feel guilty. Would Brynn mind that Sophie was cozying up to her ex-boyfriend in his home, about to eat a home-cooked French meal? Hell, had Brynn been here before? She hadn’t that night of the awkward double date, but she could have come over at some point after that.
The thought bothered Sophie more than it should, considering this wasn’t even a real date.
Gray snapped his fingers in front of her face. “Where’d you go?”
Pushing Brynn out of her mind, she settled onto one of his bar stools, taking another sip of wine. “Oh, I’m just wondering exactly how experimental you’re thinking of getting tonight.”
He raised an eyebrow at her, and she felt unexpectedly tingly.
“Food, Gray, I was talking about food.”
The corner of his mouth hitched up in what she was beginning to realize was his version of a smile. “Ah. Well, in that case, let’s get you started on the first course before you do that hungry sulky thing.”
“Okay, you have to know that discussing a woman’s appetite and generally implying she’s a glutton isn’t exactly going to get you laid, right?”
“I thought we were just talking about food,” he said archly.
“We are,” she sputtered, blushing. “I just mean, you know…for future reference with other women. Real women.”
“Are you saying a part of you is fake?” he asked, his eyes dropping again to her chest. She was appalled to find her nipples tightening. Luckily he couldn’t notice through the eight layers of push-up padding. God bless Victoria and her secret.
“Wow, accused of selling sex and of being plastic by the same man. How is it that we haven’t killed each other yet?”
He gave her a real smile this time, and she warmed a little at this slightly more friendly Gray.
“Would you like to help cook?” he asked.
“Not really, I’d much rather watch the master and drink all of your delicious wine.”
He nodded and pulled a tray of grilled asparagus out of the fridge. “Don’t touch that yet,” he snapped as she reached out to grab one. “I’m not done.”
She watched, fascinated as he proceeded to poach a couple of eggs and add them to the platter. Strips of salty prosciutto were added to the sides of the plate, and he finished the whole thing off with a drizzle of some fancy-looking olive oil and balsamic vinegar and croutons.
By the time he took a seat at the bar next to her, her mouth was watering.
“First course is served,” he said, handing her a fork. She was just about to spear a perfectly grilled vegetable when he grabbed her hand.
Startled by the contact, her eyes met his, and her mouth went from watering to dry. The man was more adept at seduction than she’d given him credit for. With nothing but a sultry look and the touch of a hand, she was practically panting.
“Don’t tell me I don’t get to eat this,” she joked, trying to break the unexpected tension.
Gray picked up his wineglass. “I’m a big fan of celebrating the food I cook before eating it.”
She blinked in confusion. “You want to pray?” Not that there was anything wrong it, but she hadn’t pegged him for the type.
“No, I just meant that I thought we should do a toast,” he said quietly.
And then she melted just a little more, because his expression had gone from looking seductive to slightly embarrassed. Feeling a rush of warmth for this complex, emotionally challenged man, she set down her fork, and dramatically cleared her throat as she picked up her wineglass.
“Ahem. I’d like to toast my dreamboat of a fake almost-boyfriend, who is, in addition to being a cuddly laugh-a-minute hottie, also a damned good chef. Not that I’d know because he won’t let me actually eat the food, probably because he thinks I’m annoying, gluttonous, and slutty, but—”
Gray clinked his glass to hers and let out a half laugh. She couldn’t help smiling back. She felt oddly proud of coaxing humor from someone who so seldom smiled. As she dug into the decadent dish, her sister crept back into her mind. Was Sophie sitting in the same spot Brynn had sat in when they were dating?
Was Sophie once again merely playing a part, whereas Brynn had been the real deal?
They ate in companionable silence, and common sense told her to keep quiet, but the wine flowing through her system had other ideas.
“What does Brynn think of your cooking?” she blurted out.
“We never quite made it to that stage.” He pushed a crouton around on his plate. “I don’t think I’d know what to talk about.”
“You seem to be doing fine with me,” she said, trying to keep the gloat out of her voice.
“Only because you forced your way into my life like a battering ram. My options are to talk to you or go deaf from your incessant chatter.”
“Be still, my heart.”
“How hungry are you? I was thinking I could put together a quick salad.”
“I doubt anything you cook from that book is quick, but sure. A salad sounds great. Where’d you learn to cook like this, anyway? Mom? Grandma?”
Gray stood and pulled greens from the refrigerator. “No, my mom died when I was a kid, and the only grandmother in the picture was my father’s mom. Not exactly the warm, fuzzy, culinary type.”
The fact that Gray had grown up without any maternal influence didn’t surprise Sophie in the least, but it made her sad all the same. It also explained quite a bit about Jenna’s rough edges and Jack’s excess of superficial charm.
She’d also learned from Jenna that their father hadn’t exactly been the warm type either. Lack of a softer influence had resulted in one very jaded big brother. Over martinis, Jenna had let it slip that Gray had absorbed the majority of their father’s attention, but not in the way a son would hope for. The senior Grayson Wyatt had continually berated his eldest son for being quiet and wimpy. Gray had been sent away to boarding school with instructions to become more likable.
Sophie winced as she realized that her own comments about making him more approachable might add to open wounds. How must it feel to always be told that you’re not appealing enough? To be shy, but told that in order for someone to like you, you had to be more talkative?
Had anyone ever told Gray that he was sufficient just as he was? That he was successful and kind, even if he had no idea how to show it?
She doubted it.
Not that he was faultless, of course. That chronic scowl had to go, she didn’t care how introverted he was. But at the same time, she no longer was sure she wanted him to smile just because it was expected. Sophie was beginning to like the fact that Gray’s smiles had to be earned. They felt more like a reward worth reaching for instead of a superficial grin freely given.
Perhaps most startling of all was the fact that the two of them weren’t quite as different as she’d assumed. They were both struggling to reconcile being true to themselves while managing the expectations of others. He with being more approachable, and she with being more conventional. On the one hand, they wanted to be open to self-improvement. On the other, they didn’t want to compromise their own values.
“Please tell me you’re not having some sort of melodramatic womanly moment over there,” Gray said as he drizzled some oil over a bunch of exotic-looking greens.
“I totally was. You want to hear about it?” she asked.
“Absolutely not.”
She told him anyway. “I was just thinking how we have more in common that I would have guessed.”
He sighed and put a salad in front of her. “Is listening to this optional?”
“Quit being so emotionally closed-off,” she said without heat.
“And this is why I don’t read Cosmo.”
Sophie dug into her salad, pleasantly surprised that something so simple could taste gourmet. “Hey, this is really good. You should open a restaurant. And you still haven’t told me how you learned to cook like this.”
He shrugged awkwardly. “I kind of stumbled into it, really. At some point after college I realized that I wanted to be able to make something other than grilled cheese. So I went to cooking school. Le Cordon Bleu, actually.”
“Isn’t that where professional chefs go?”
“They take anyone with enough money.”
“Ah, so you bribed them. Fair enough. You pay for cooking school, you pay for sex. It all makes sense.”
He let out a low growl. “When do we get to drop the prostitute thing? I’m making dinner for you, and I think in return you should quit making cracks about that night.”
She bit into a perfectly crisp green bean and considered. “I will under one condition.”
He muttered a string of obscenities which she pretended not to hear.
“I promise never to bring it up again if you tell me what exactly about me made you think I was a hooker. I mean, I know I wasn’t exactly classy, but it was Vegas. I was hardly the only one in skimpy attire.”
He looked almost hopeful. “If I address the elevator incident, we can move on?”
“Promise. I will never ever imply that you once wanted to pay me for sex.”
“I never wanted—” He broke off, realizing that she was baiting him.
He was really getting better at this whole reading-of-the-people routine. She felt so proud.
Gray’s jaw tightened, and his voice sounded gruff. “It was just those damn boots. They were awful. I figured no self-respecting woman would wear them.”
Sophie let out a half laugh. “You made a snap judgment based on my shoe choice?”
He lifted a shoulder and continued eating his salad.
She shook her head. “Talk about judgmental crap.”
“Talk about slutty shoes.”
That made her smile ruefully. “And to think I spent a good hour getting ready that night. All my hard work defeated by the wrong shoe selection. I was this close to picking a very respectable sandal.”
“Now can I ask you something?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Very good, Gray. Showing interest in your date is progress.”
He ignored her attempt at evasion. “Two questions, actually. First, why did you quit law school?”
Sophie blinked at the unexpected change in topic. She thought carefully about how to respond. Did she even know anymore? Her twenty-three-year-old self seemed like a distant stranger. “I don’t really know,” she said slowly. “It’s like one day I was contentedly going through the motions of the path I’d always been on, and the next day…everything just felt wrong.”
“So…you wanted to go into the restaurant business?”
Sophie laughed softly. “Very delicately put. And no, not really. I suppose you could say it was a very delayed form of rebellion. I’d done everything I was supposed to up until that point. Good grades, the “right” extracurricular, the right school, wholesome boyfriend…When I fell off that path, my parents flipped. There was a whole lot of talk about being respectable, and not a whole lot of dialogue about happiness. I guess in turn I tried to get as far away from their path as possible.”
“By becoming a cocktail waitress,” he finished for her.
“Well…it was that or a hooker,” she said with a sly smile.
He took a sip of wine. “Which leads me to my next question…Why are you still so preoccupied with what happened that night? It was a simple mistake, and we’ve already established that neither of us was at our best. Add to that a freak elevator malfunction. But you can’t let it go. Why is that?”
She let out a long breath and pushed her salad aside. “I’m going to need more wine for this discussion.”
He complied, refilling both their glasses without comment. Then he turned and studied her, his dark eyes latching on to hers with uncomfortable intensity.
She looked away and idly ran her finger along the stem of her crystal glass before speaking.
“So, the thing is,” she began slowly, “my career path hasn’t been exactly typical for a Stanford graduate. The alumni house is hardly pounding on my door begging for interviews.”
She took a swallow of wine, feeling his intent gaze still fixed on her profile.
“And I guess I’ve always known that I’m better at being liked than being admired,” she continued. “And I’m okay with that. Mostly. But being mistaken for a prostitute somehow felt like rock bottom, you know? Like I’d been able to handle the You can do better pep talks up to a point, but…”
She broke off, not knowing how to explain herself and worried she’d revealed too much.
He didn’t let her off the hook. “But when I thought you were at the bottom of the employment food chain, you doubted yourself and began to wonder if your family was right about you?” he guessed.
“Yup, that pretty much sums it up,” she said glumly.
“Hey,” he said softly, nudging his knee against hers.
She raised her eyes to his, ignoring the flip of her belly.
“You’re not inferior to anyone. You have skills that nobody else in your family has. Hell, the way you handled the Blackwells? I’ve never seen anyone wrap someone around their finger so efficiently. That kind of skill is worth something. You’re worth something.”
The last sentence came out in a mumble, and he tensed his jaw, probably from the uncomfortable sensation of saying something nice. Sophie wanted to give him a hard time about the uncharacteristic softness, but she felt too warm and melty to ruin the moment. This kind of affirmation coming from anyone would have given her a flutter.
But coming from Gray? She felt like grinning.
What would it be like to lean into him for just a moment? To beg for more reassurances. To hear that he liked her. That he respected her, just as she was, not for what she could be.
Before she knew it she was leaning, and from the way he was staring at her mouth, she wasn’t the only one who felt the pull of whatever was going on there. He moved imperceptibly closer and Sophie held her breath, not daring to let herself think. Not about work, not about Brynn, not about Vegas.
Kiss me, she thought.
Gray drew back so quickly he nearly knocked his plate off the counter.
“Anyway, I just wanted you to know,” he said gruffly, grabbing their plates and standing.
Sophie shook her head and tried to shake off whatever had just flashed between them. She took a deep breath and ordered herself not to be disappointed.
You are not to make out with your boss, you are not to make out with your boss…
She repeated the mantra in her head as he dumped their barely touched salads down the garbage disposal with a fierce scowl. She had the insane urge to press her lips against the crease between his eyebrows.
How had the night turned so quickly from dreaded family dinner to downright sexy?
The taciturn, irritable version of Gray never made her feel off-balance. But this flirty, sweet version made her wary. This Gray could too easily slip past her guard, and the last thing she needed was to fall for someone who would never approve of her. Throwing a few morale boosters her way was one thing, but someone like Gray would never be in a serious relationship with someone as unfocused as her. Hell, Brian had been a freaking nomad, and even he thought she was floating aimlessly through life.
The thought depressed her more than it should. Most of the time she couldn’t stand Gray, and now she was thinking about a relationship?
They needed to abort this cozy chatter before she did something crazy. Like grab the lapels of his crisp white shirt and kiss him senseless. And every instinct in her body told her that getting personal with Grayson Wyatt could only lead to heartbreak.
“Can I help with the main course?” she asked too loudly.
He glanced up, looking relieved that she wasn’t going to continue their bonding moment. He’d probably reached his quota of emotional availability for the year.
“You can chop the parsley,” he replied. “You can’t possibly mess that up.”
“Gee, thanks,” she said, sliding off the bar stool. “Do you have an extra cutting board?”
He slid the garlic he was mincing to the right side of his cutting board and gestured to the space he’d just cleared. “Grab a knife. Parsley’s in the produce drawer of the fridge.”
Unsurprisingly, his fridge was both well stocked and well organized. She took her time browsing through the assortment of fancy cheeses and meats and wide array of produce. It had more variety than her local grocery store, she marveled as she checked out some expensive-looking ham.
“Quit fondling my meat, and just get the damn parsley.”
“Cliché sexual references, boss? I didn’t think that was your style,” she said as she grabbed the parsley and a knife and settled beside him at the cutting board.
Despite her intention to keep things completely professional between them, she couldn’t help but notice the domestic coziness of them sharing a cutting board. He seemed to think the same, because his eyes slid to hers and he gave her a shy smile.
She followed the motion of his hands as he adeptly minced several garlic cloves. He looked so at home with his cooking utensils. It was strange to think that the same hands deftly handling the chef knife were the ones she’d seen typing, holding a phone, or shooing her out of his office.
Awkwardly, Sophie began chopping the parsley. She’d never thought much about her chopping technique before. She’d watched plenty of Food Network and could whip up the occasional spaghetti or stir-fry without embarrassing herself. But after watching him go all Julia Child on her, she felt strangely inept.
Her eyes slid again to his hands, trying to mimic what he was doing. Noticing that he used shorter, more efficient chopping movements, she tried the same—
“Ouch!” she exclaimed. “Son of a…”
She’d never exactly been keen on blood, and the sight of red fluid covering her hand had her swaying.
“What the hell?” Gray said, grabbing her by the wrist. “You’ve cut yourself!”
“Wow, nothing slips by you.” she said dazedly, staring down at her bloody hand. It was hard to see around the Braveheart-worthy puddle of blood, but it looked like a major gash was running along her index and middle fingers right below the knuckle.
“You’re going to need stitches,” Gray muttered.
“Just get me a Band-Aid,” she said, humiliation beginning to sink in around the queasiness. “It’s only a little nick.”
But Gray had grasped her wrist and wrapped a towel around her fingers. “Into the car, now. We’re going to the ER.”
“Are you freaking kidding me? Just get me another glass of wine and another towel or something. Maybe some tape.” Her hand began to throb. “Actually, make that wine a whiskey. But I’m not going to the hospital because I cut myself chopping parsley.”
“I can see your bone, Sophie,” he said as he ushered her out of the apartment, down a stairwell, and into the garage. Throbbing finger or no, she wasn’t so out of it that she didn’t notice the careful way he tucked all of her limbs into his black BMW or the way he quickly ran his hand over her hair.
Then again, that could have been the woozy at work.
“Just great. I’m even a failure at cutting herbs,” she muttered, throwing her head back against the headrest and clutching the towel more closely around her fingers. The blood had soaked through the folded dish towel and she was beginning to realize the sheer stupidity of what she’d done. She couldn’t even blame the wine. Sure, she’d had a glass, but most of her intoxication had been from watching the man next to her.
Distraction by lust. It happened to the best of women, right?
Through the haze of pain and humiliation, she realized that Gray drove just like he did everything else. Quickly, quietly, and with no unnecessary movements.
“How are you feeling?” he asked, glancing over at her.
“I’m feeling really great, Gray. For the first time ever I was getting the impression that maybe you didn’t hate me, and then I go and ruin the night by nearly slicing off the fingers of my dominant hand. So yeah, I’m great. Maybe later we can go shoot puppies at close range.”
“I never hated you,” he said quietly.
And then he reached over and briefly set his hand on her knee before he jerked it back to the steering wheel.
Despite the fact that her hand was wrapped in a blood-soaked towel, and that she was about to spend her Friday night in a hospital waiting room, she couldn’t hide a giddy little smile.