Her boots punched the floor as she slipped around in front of him. “No.”

He frowned, catching her long braid and pulling it forward over her shoulder. “Careful. Burner’s on. No what, girl?”

“No, you don’t get off that easy.” She narrowed her eyes. “What’s wrong? If it’s my dad you’re worried about, never mind him. He’s got a rock for a personality and a bronze sword in the part of his brain that was supposed to help him adapt to the modern world.” She reached for him, his waist hard with muscle beneath his shirt. She tried to ignore that as she gave him a little shake. “You didn’t call me for days, and now you’re smiling all funny. We’re friends, right?”

He tugged her braid, his lips finding their smile again. “Yeah. We’re friends.” When he released her hair, his knuckles whispered over the highest curve of her breast. Her heart dropped a thousand feet in a second and then surged back upward, hammering toward his touch, but it was already over.

She stood between him and the stove, her palms cupping his hips over his battered belt, as close as they’d been that night when he’d caged her against the refrigerator and told her he wasn’t flirting—he was hoping.

“This is flirting,” she whispered. “That is, if you want it to be.”

“Andra . . .” He swooped down to her level, his lips trembling a breath away from hers before they touched, a quick and desperate brush that spoke of nearly failed restraint. She pushed up onto her toes and met him more firmly.

His arms slid around her back and lifted her into his solid chest. This time, he kissed her deep and slow, exploring her mouth in ways that left nothing private and nothing to be embarrassed about.

When he paused, tipping his forehead against hers, she realized her feet were dangling off the ground. Nothing about bearing her weight changed the way he stood.

“You sure know how to cheer a man up.” He chuckled breathlessly, and she smiled, feeling so light that she wondered whether it was his smile on her face, the one lit one hundred fifty watts brighter than the rest of the world.

He hugged her into him, his big hand sprawling over her back before he bent to set her on her feet, smoothing her braid forward again so it was away from the flames.

“See what happens when I make you New Orleans food?” He grinned and turned off the stove. “You get just like us. All grabby and wanting to take your clothes off.”

She tried to scowl at him, but her mouth wouldn’t cooperate. “I’m not stripping yet, Delisle.”

He laughed. “Finally saying my name right, too. Telling you, it’s all in the red beans.”