Free Covert Pursuit by Terri Reed Page B

jacket.”
    Unmoving, he stared at her a moment.
    Feeling suddenly self-conscious, she asked, “Is something wrong?”
    Shaking his head, his lips tipped upward at the corners. “Not at all. I really like your hair down. You have beautiful hair.”
    Both touched and pleased by the compliment, she inclined her head. “Thank you.”
    He slipped out of the slicker and hung it by the hood on the standing coat rack in the entryway. He’d changed into soft-looking chinos showing the smattering of rain that had obviously pelted him when he’d been exposed to the elements. His Henley-style long-sleeved shirt was a shade of blue that matched his eye color exactly and stretched over taut muscles. She smothered a sigh of pleasure.
    “Hmm, something smells good,” he said.
    “It is good. Have you eaten at Fiona’s?” she asked as she preceded him to the kitchen.
    “Oh, yeah. One of the island’s best.”
    “Sit. Let me serve you,” she said when he entered the kitchen.
    “I’d rather help,” he countered and stuck his hand in a pot holder. “Is the lasagna ready to come out?”
    “I’m sure it is,” she said, watching him take the pan of lasagna from the oven and move it to the stovetop. She liked that he wanted to help and that he didn’t just expect to be catered to.
    “Serving spoon?”
    She pointed to a drawer next to the stove.
    She took the salad to the table and then returned to pop the bread in the still-hot oven. “This will just take a minute or two.”
    “I’ll dish us up some lasagna,” he said and reached for the two plates sitting on the counter.
    This companionable ease with which they moved around the kitchen felt at turns odd and yet so right. She didn’t entertain much at her apartment, preferring to dine out on dates. It was much easier to control the situation in a public venue.
    Allowing anyone into her private world wasn’t something she did easily or often. She’d learned the hard way that men were either turned off or intimidated by her career or wanted to conquer her to build up their own egos.
    She’d really like to find a guy who was comfortable in his own skin and comfortable letting her be herself. She eyed Jason speculatively. Could he be that guy? Definitely worth considering.
    They sat to eat. She hesitated a moment. Normally, she liked to pray before partaking of her meals. Would Jason mind?
    “Is something wrong?” he asked.
    “No,” she said quickly, unsure how to ask if he’dbe okay with her saying a blessing over their food. She could always say it silently. God would hear her.
    “Would you like for me to say grace?”
    Surprised, she beamed. “Please do.”
    His clear blue eyes twinkled before he bowed his head. Angie followed suit, but she struggled to keep her gaze off his face. She doubted this man humbled himself much to anyone. But knowing he did before the Lord warmed her from the inside out.
    “Dear Lord, thank you for this food you’ve provided. Please bless it to our bodies. I ask that you would watch over us as we move forward in our endeavors. Amen.”
    “Amen,” she murmured, liking his simple yet straightforward prayer. She picked up the salad tongs. “May I?”
    He held out his plate. “Please.”
    She grinned at how their formality contrasted with their encounter behind the Corrinda estate. “How did you know I’d want to pray?”
    His gaze flicked to her neck. “I noticed the cross you wear.”
    The tiny gold symbol of her faith lay against her skin beneath her T-shirt, the light pressure comforting. “Have you been a believer your whole life?”
    He dropped his gaze and concentrated on his plate. “Yes.” He took a bite of food, preventing him from answering further.
    When he didn’t elaborate, she decided not to press. One’s faith was a personal journey to be respected.Obviously, he wanted to keep that part of himself private. But why did the fact that he didn’t want to open up and talk about his faith sting?
    Pushing away the