Free Homecoming by Rochelle Alers

her because, in the end, he’d ended their relationship. What had surprised Dana most was that she hadn’t dwelt on his deception. He’d validated what she had already known: She could not trust a man.
    The other reason was their compatibility in bed. She hadn’t known she was capable of intense passion until she shared her bed and body with Galvin, and she wanted to rationalize that her attraction to Tyler Cole was because she’d missed not only the passion, but also the personal intimacy, between a man and a woman.
    Dana sat on a high stool at a cooking island, drinking a glass of orange juice, while she watched Tyler put fresh argali, toasted pine nuts, garlic, freshly grated parmigiana-reggiano cheese, and measured amounts of extra-virgin olive oil into a food processor, while a pot filled with bowtie-shaped pasta cooked on the stove. A platter of large grilled shrimp, covered with several paper towels, sat on a nearby butcher-block table. The warmed arugula pesto and shrimp would be added to the al dente farfalle, and topped with more grated cheese.
    She was grateful she hadn’t boasted about her cooking prowess because there was no doubt Tyler was more than familiar with the inner workings of a kitchen. A variety of pots and pans hung from overhead hooks. A specialized unit for storing and cooling wine stood alongside a walk-in freezer. A state-of-the-art refrigerator/freezer, a built-in dishwasher, a compactor, a microwave oven, a dual-level oven, and double stainless-steel sinks at the cooking island providedmaximum convenience for him to cook for two or twenty-two.
    Tyler poured the pesto into a saucepan, adjusting the flame so it could simmer. The tantalizing aroma of grilled shrimp and garlic wafted in the climate-controlled air. Lifting an eyebrow, he smiled as Dana slipped off the stool to stand beside him.
    “Will you share a glass of wine with me?” he asked. She nodded, returning his smile. “What would you like?” She stared at him through her lashes, her moist lips slightly parted.
    Don’t look at me like that!
he wanted to scream at her. Her seductive glance made him hot; it turned him on so much he was helpless to control the quiet storm brewing in his groin. He had to get away from her, even if it was only for a few minutes, or embarrass himself.
    The Delta was experiencing a drought and Dr. Tyler Cole was also experiencing a drought—a sexual drought. It had been months since he’d slept with a woman, and since relocating to Hillsboro he hadn’t looked at or lusted after any woman—not until now.
    He’d celebrated his forty-first birthday May twelfth, joining those who claimed middle-age status, and he wondered whether he truly wanted to spend the rest of his life alone. Did he want his DNA to end with him, or continue for another generation?
    Meeting Dana Nichols had him off balance; just her presence had him thinking about his priorities. Interacting with her helped him to recognize something he’d denied for years—he was lonely.
    “White, please,” she said.
    Tyler walked to where he’d stored his wine, took out a chilled bottle of Chardonnay, placing it on the table in the breakfast room. Working quickly, he set the table with china, silver, and a pair crystal wine glasses andwater goblets. Returning to the cooking island, he checked on the pesto and pasta.
    Ten minutes later, he and Dana sat down to eat, while the distinctive voice of Sade filled the space after he’d turned on a stereo unit built into one of the overhead cabinets.
    Dana felt awkward, but she managed to feed herself. Several times a farfalle or a shrimp slipped from her fork, eliciting an encouraging smile from her dining partner. The entrée was delicious.
    “Who taught you to cook?” she asked.
    Tyler took a sip of wine. “My father. All of the males in my family are mandated to go through what we call culinary survival training. We were raised not to depend on a woman if we wanted to eat.”
    She raised