Free Stolen Kisses by Sally Falcon Page A

ominously reminded her that they were all alone. For a minute she seemed to have finally gotten the upper hand, or had she? Could she have just played into his hands? Knowing it was dangerous to continue that train of thought, she decided to wait and analyze the evening after it was over. She needed to keep her full attention on a smooth operator like Trevor Planchet.
    “This is ‘just a little something’?” Looking down at the linen tablecloth spread on the floor, Jessie wondered if he was planning on inviting the entire neighborhood. The cloth seemed to be covered with chafing dishes. The mingling of a number of tantalizing aromas filled her head.
    “You remember my sister Tory? She owns Bill of Fare catering where Abby Bush works. Whenever I don’t want to give someone ptomaine from cooking, I give them a call.”
    “‘The bachelor’s friend,’” she murmured, remembering one of the catering firm’s advertising slogans.
    “That was my idea, since I was always pestering her for special meals when I— Why don’t you make yourself comfortable while I get the rolls out of the oven.” He swiftly headed for the kitchen, as if he wanted to be out of sight before she could ask another question.
    So Trevor used his sister’s cooking to help him with his conquests. Well, not tonight, she determined with a grimace as she dropped her tote bag beneath the bay window at the far end of the room. What exactly had she gotten into by agreeing to stay? Could she suggest they turn on more lights than just the chandelier with its electric bulbs that resembled flickering candles? If she had any sense, she could leave before he came back. Wrapping her arms around her waist, she wondered why the house hadn’t seemed this empty or intimidating when she was here with Gina.
    “Here we go.”
    Jessie jumped at the sound of his cheerful voice behind her. Her nerves definitely were not going to survive the evening, she decided, waiting for him to place the basket on the tablecloth. Absently she reached to run her hand over her French plait, smoothing imaginary stray hairs into place.
    “Well, I guess we’re ready to dig in,” he stated, rubbing his hands together. “Which corner do you want to sit on?”
    “Right here is fine.” She sank to the floor, thankful for her turquoise divided skirt and print over-blouse that allowed her to move gracefully and modestly. By precisely arranging her skirt around her knees she didn’t have to look directly at Trevor for the next few minutes, overcome with the feelings of being a shy fifteen-year-old again.
    “Now, what can I tempt madam’s palate with this evening? Some herb chicken or perhaps beef Burgundy?” Trevor intoned in a nasal impersonation of a five-star restaurant’s maître d’, a towel draped over his forearm. Scrambling around on his knees, he uncovered each dish for her inspection. “Or would madam care to partake of the shrimp Creole?”
    She found herself laughing in spite of herself at his autocratic parody. Perhaps she could make it through dinner if she just relaxed and didn’t look for hidden meanings. The earlier tension between them seemed to have dissipated since his return from the kitchen. “Were you preparing for an invasion?”
    “I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I decided on one from column A, etc.,” he explained easily, moving toward another covered dish. “Voila! Mixed vegetables.”
    “Everything looks delicious, and I skipped lunch today. Just give me a sample of each.” She realized that she was famished, and not just from sparring with Trevor. Accepting her plate, she eagerly took her first bite. The chicken was ambrosia, and she closed her eyes to savor the explosion of spices on her tongue.
    After that, there was little time for conversation as they took turns critiquing every dish like two greedy children. Jessie claimed her enthusiasm stemmed from eating microwave entrées all week, and Trevor blamed the stadium food he thrived on