Free Uncovered by Linda Winfree Page B

exhale coming in a puff of steam, and she tightened her blazer about her as she approached the porch.
    With a coat of fresh paint, the old saltbox-style farmhouse gleamed under the bluish mercury light. A couple of rockers sat on the wide porch, a lamp shaped like a lantern shining brightly by the front door. The impression was clean, neat and masculine.
    She knocked, shivering a little as a chill wind blew across the yard, slipping in beneath her jacket. Moments passed with no answer, and she lifted her hand to rap again.
    The door swung open, and Ash grinned an apology at her. “I’m sorry. Should have told you to come round to the kitchen door.”
    He stepped back to let her enter and inside heat wrapped about her.
    “Let me get your jacket.” Warm hands descended on her shoulders and she shrugged out of the military-style blazer, glancing around at an equally neat living room. The hardwood floors shone, a couple of couches and a big pine trunk sharing space before the fireplace.
    “Nice place. You’ve done a lot with it.”
    “Pretty bare, isn’t it?” His rich voice tickled her ears.
    “I wouldn’t say bare.” Books packed floor-to-ceiling built-ins. True, the room held little clutter or knick-knacks, but what there was—some pottery pieces, a well-worn guitar leaning against the wall, framed photos and a couple of paintings—hinted at the personality of the man behind her.
    And she’d never been able to resist a good mystery.
    She glanced over her shoulder at him, finding his pale eyes resting on her and glowing with humor and good old-fashioned male attraction. The tiny flutters took up residence in her belly once more. My God, the man was handsome.
    “Something smells good.” She stepped back, aware now of spicy aromas flowing through the house. Beneath her lashes, she swept a look over him. Casual looked good on him—jeans, a bark-brown buttondown shirt that made his eyes seem brighter, loafers.
    “Seafood étouffée.” A brash grin lit his face, the awareness she was checking him out passing and crackling between them. “Hungry?”
    “Considering lunch was a pack of crackers and a Coke? Yes.”
    Laughter glimmered in his gaze and he reached for her hand. “Come on and let’s get you fed, then.”
    Her palm tingled at the warm contact of his skin on hers. The sensation moved up her arm in a pleasant wave as he led her through to the large eat-in kitchen.
    Like the living room, this area was clean and neat, but bore the unmistakable stamp of a strong male personality and that of someone who liked to cook—bold reds and browns against white subway tiles, gleaming copper and stainless-steel cookware.
    A scarred antique table set for two waited by the large window at the end of the room. The spicy smells of tomatoes, onions and peppers filled the air. Her stomach gave a tiny rumble and gnawed on itself. That lunch of peanut butter crackers was seriously a long way behind her.
    He pulled out her chair. “I’d planned on opening a bottle of wine, but if you’d rather have something else—”
    “Wine sounds heavenly.” She didn’t indulge often, but one glass shouldn’t hurt. She spread her napkin in her lap. Aromatic steam drifted from the rich seafood stew over its bed of rice. “This looks fabulous.”
    “Go ahead and start.” He moved to the counter, and she took him at his word. Savoring a bite of the wickedly savory concoction, she watched the muscles move in his back and arms as he uncorked a bottle of wine and poured two glasses. Graceful, not awkward as many tall men were. Nice hands, strong with tapered fingers and short, clean nails. Hardworking hands, the bandage a stark white against the tanned skin of his left, a few nicks on the knuckles and a thin white scar on the back of the right.
    A picture of those hands sliding over her breasts, cupping and molding, flitted through her mind, and she shifted, tiny darts of desire shooting through her.
    He set a glass of wine before her