Contents ( 54)
- Recipe for Love
- ANNE MALCOM
- Contents
- Foreword
- Chapter One
- Chapter Two
- Chapter Three
- ROWAN
- NORA
- Chapter Four
- ROWAN
- Chapter Five
- NORA
- Chapter Six
- Chapter Seven
- Chapter Eight
- Chapter Nine
- ROWAN
- NORA
- Chapter Ten
- Chapter Eleven
- Chapter Twelve
- Chapter Thirteen
- Chapter Fourteen
- Chapter Fifteen
- Chapter Sixteen
- Chapter Seventeen
- ROWAN
- NORA
- Chapter Eighteen
- Chapter Nineteen
- Chapter Twenty
- Chapter Twenty-One
- RECIPE: PISTACHIO PINWHEELS
- ROWAN
- NORA
- Chapter Twenty-Two
- Chapter Twenty-Three
- ROWAN
- Epilogue
- FOUR MONTHS LATER
- NORA
- Recipes
- Acknowledgments
- About the Author
- Also by Anne Malcom
- THE SONS OF TEMPLAR
- THE SONS OF TEMPLAR - NEW MEXICO
- UNQUIET MIND
- GREENSTONE SECURITY
- THE VEIN CHRONICLES
- RETIRED SINNERS
- THE KLUTCH DUET
- STANDALONES
His lips found the top of my head, pressing down gently while wrapping his arms around me.
Although I wanted to stay there forever—or for a while, at least—I was me. Intrusive thoughts always found their way in. It was not in my nature to enjoy a simple moment for what it was.
“My life is not normally this eventful,” I said, staring at Maggie running along the edges of my overgrown garden. “It will not require you to go into protective mode every single day.”
Apparently, Rowan was not ready to have this conversation unless we were face to face. He made that known by turning me around, hands on my hips.
He was still pissed, that was clear, but his posture relaxed. Somewhat, at least.
I gnawed on my lip. He was still incredibly handsome and sexy, and I was still very mindful of the promises he’d made earlier about what we were going to be doing tonight. Technically, I should not have been so turned on by a man who had promised death and violence earlier, but I couldn’t help it.
My eyes ran over him hungrily. The broad shoulders. The defined chest. The chiseled forearms. The stubble-covered jaw. That piercing gaze. No matter how many times I blinked, he was still there. Still pure masculine perfection.
“My life is not exciting,” I added. “There are not normally black eyes and parking lot showdowns.” I massaged my temples, trying to regain my train of thought.
Rowan didn’t say anything. He just pinned me with an intense stare.
I swallowed thickly. “I think it’s important to point out I’m a rather boring person,” I continued. “Because you, sir, are not a boring man. And I don’t want to misrepresent myself.”
It was crucial that he knew this, I’d decided at some point during the ride home. I didn’t know what kind of women he’d dated before me, but I didn’t think I was his usual type. And I didn’t want him thinking I was someone I wasn’t.
“Why did you stop?” he asked instead of addressing anything I’d said.
I squinted at him. “Why did I stop where?”
His grip on my hips tightened for a moment. “At the store. When you saw Ronnie and Lori.” His words were strained, tight. He hadn’t completely wound down, he’d turned into something else. Someone else. That dangerous alpha guy.
And it seemed it took a while for him to find his way back to the man who smiled at me in the bakery.
“I don’t understand the question,” I told him slowly.
“Most people wouldn’t stop,” he said. “Especially women who aren’t armed, who are half the size of the man smacking around his woman. If they stopped, it would be down the street, maybe, and they’d call for help.”
I shook my head. “You don’t have a very high opinion about people. I like to believe most people would stop.”
His gaze remained shrewd and penetrating. “You believe that because you’re you,” he countered delicately. “But I’ve got a low opinion about people in general because people suck. Because they look out for themselves. You didn’t do that. You stopped. Put yourself in danger. Were willing to take a blow for someone you barely know.”