Free Slow Burn by Julie Garwood

not—”
    “It’s about time. The pizza’s getting cold and the beer’s getting warm. Move out of the way. Come on, Pickle. Move.”
    The silly name he called her had always gotten under her skin.
    He was already over the threshold and about to step on her toes.
    The pizza smelled wonderful and so did he. She got a tiny whiff of his cologne when he strode past her on his way to the kitchen. She followed him and got trapped behind the refrigerator when he opened the door to put the beer inside. He popped the tab on one can and offered it to her. She shook her head. He shut the refrigerator, stepped closer, and pinned her to the counter as he slowly reached over her to get to the pizza.
    He was deliberately trying to get a reaction, and from the sparkle in his eyes, she knew he was thoroughly enjoying himself.
    “I’ll be happy to move.”
    “No need.”
    His chest rubbed against hers, and it was then that she remembered what she was wearing.
    “Jordan’s not here,” she told him.
    “I noticed.”
    “You should have called first and saved yourself a trip. I’m not dressed for company.”
    “Yeah, I noticed that, too. You’ve got great legs, Pickle.”
    “Dylan . . .”
    “I’m not company.”
    She pushed against his shoulder to get him to step back. When he winced, she realized what she had done. “Oh, Dylan,” she whispered as she jerked her hand back. She’d forgotten about his injury. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to . . .”
    “It’s okay.”
    He left the pizza but took his beer into the living room and dropped down on the sofa. Kate followed him.
    “I hurt you, didn’t I?”
    “Let it go,” he said. He knew he’d sounded irritated and softened his tone when he added, “I’m fine.”
    He didn’t look fine. He looked ready to pass out. His complexion had turned gray, but if he wanted her to let it go, then that’s what she would do. She went into the kitchen, grabbed the pizza, some napkins, and her bottled water, and then decided to take him another beer as a peace offering of sorts.
    There were newspapers spread on the coffee table. Kate put the box down on top and then excused herself and went into Jordan’s bedroom to borrow one of her robes. Her friend was taller than Kate, and the pink robe dragged on the floor. It was missing a belt.
    She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror above the sink as she walked past and inwardly groaned. She’d forgotten she’d clipped her hair into a ponytail that was more out than in, and there were mascara smudges under her eyes. “Lovely,” she muttered.
    She grabbed a washcloth and started scrubbing. By the time she came back to the living room Dylan had finished his third slice of pizza and was reaching for a fourth. He’d also emptied her bottle of water and gotten her another one.
    She shook her head. “I wasn’t gone that long.”
    “You snooze, you lose. At least in the Buchanan family you do. Come sit.” She must have looked wary. “I won’t bite, unless you want me to.”
    He was smiling at her, and oh, Lord, he was something. Good thing she wasn’t interested, she reminded herself. Like the big bad wolf, he’d devour her. No, thank you.
    He was sitting in the center of the sofa and took up a fair amount of space, but she didn’t ask him to move over. She shoved several pillows out of the way and sat down.
    “I was wondering . . .” he began.
    She stacked the pillows neatly between them. “Yes?”
    He was smiling at her again. She wanted to tell him to stop it, that when he smiled, she lost her ability to concentrate. Wouldn’t he love hearing that? He’d have something more to tease her about.
    “Where’s the remote?”
    The question jarred her. “The remote?”
    “Uh-huh,” he drawled. “The remote.”
    “You mean the remote for the television. Let me guess. Sports channel.”
    “I’m that predictable?”
    “Afraid so. You’re a Buchanan male.”
    She threw a couple of pillows on the floor and dug between