He wiped his face with a towel, wincing when he lifted one leg over the bench and stood. “What’s up?”
His discarded T-shirt lay on the floor. She was afraid to look him in the eye, worried what he’d see. “Can we talk?”
“Can we? I hope so.” He flipped the damp towel around his neck. “We did a lot of that on the road.”
The scent of healthy male sweat only served to make her more nervous. She wasn’t sure where to direct her gaze. Something about him roused dangerous sensations inside her. She should’ve stayed in the office instead of rushing down here to ask if he was the Bird. She should’ve waited until later, after he showered and dressed and went to work in his studio. Did she want to know more about him?
Roman swiped the T-shirt off the floor and pulled it on inside out. “Is this better?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
His breathing hadn’t eased. She noticed the pulse in his throat. Was it from his workout, or was he feeling some of what she was? She had to break the tension. “Never mind. It can wait.” She turned and headed for the door.
“How about this evening?”
Confused, she looked back. Was he asking her to stay late?
Roman rubbed the towel over his damp hair. He tilted his head, studying her. How much of what she felt showed right now? She wanted him to touch her, but if he reached out, she’d run. He came closer, holding the two ends of the towel he’d hung around his neck. “Take the day off, Grace. Let’s talk over dinner. Six o’clock. I’ll cook.”
Dinner after work hours? “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
His hands tightened on the towel. “We haven’t really talked since we got back from the road trip.”
They’d talked, but she knew what he meant. They had stopped digging around inside one another. It was an opening she needed. “All right.”
“We can put everything on the table.” His mouth tipped slightly.
“Everything?”
He walked around her. “You can tell me what has you so riled up.” He glanced at the file in her hand. “I’d better get cleaned up.”
Grace didn’t breathe normally until Roman went into his bedroom and closed the door.
What everything had he meant?
ROMAN MADE A GROCERY LIST before driving to Malibu. He wanted to make sure he had everything he needed to impress Grace. He bought fixings for spinach and pear salad and beef Stroganoff. He’d noticed she didn’t drink alcohol, so he opted for a bottle of sparkling grape cider. Susan Masterson said every woman loved chocolate. He picked out a small mousse cake from the bakery. He also picked up a flower arrangement with two candles.
It had been a long time since Roman spent all afternoon in a kitchen preparing a special meal, not since the last Christmas at Masterson Ranch. That had been his way of saying thank you and good-bye at the same time.
The evening was warm. Grace liked the view. The patio table would be the perfect place for an intimate dinner for two. At five, Roman showered and shaved. He pulled on a dark-blue T-shirt, black jeans, and wove a leather belt through the loops. She’d wonder what was wrong with him if he dressed up any more than that. He came out of his bedroom and opened the sliding-glass door to the patio. His pulse picked up speed as he saw Grace making her way toward the house.
She came in holding his contribution to the barbecue—the bottle of champagne in one hand, the Heineken six-pack in the other. The manila folder was tucked under her arm. “I thought I should return these.” She headed for the kitchen.
Roman caught the subtle hint of perfume as she passed. A positive sign. He followed her. “I noticed you and your friends don’t drink.” She looked great in black skinny jeans and her lightweight pink sweater. She put the champagne and beer in his refrigerator and moved around the long counter away from him. Roman met her on the other side, plucked the file folder from her hand, and tossed it on the polished granite surface. “We’re not working tonight.”
“I just need to talk to you about something I saw—”
“Whatever it is, Grace, let it wait.”
She looked back at the kitchen. “Something smells very good.”
“Wondering where the take-out boxes are? There aren’t any. I figured it was about time I fixed you dinner.” He nodded toward the sliding-glass doors. “It’s a nice evening. We’ll eat on the patio.” He watched her take in the table set for two, the wineglasses and bottle chilling in a bucket of ice, the flowers and candles ready to be lit after the sun went down.