t of the monitors, staring at them intently. The kitchen was newly renovated, and the results were iffy. Clearly the rehab had been designed by men. Instead of the huge gathering place that it had probably once been, the space had been turned into a stainless steel laboratory, efficient and soulless.
James was still staring at the monitor, his hands flying over the keys, not turning. “There’s chili on the stove. Don’t worry—I didn’t make it. They had stuff waiting for us, and since it’s Texas I chose the chili. If you’re too fainthearted for it, you can find something to suit your palate. I believe there’s fettuccini Alfredo and . . .”
“Chili will be fine.” In fact she liked spicy food, another thing he had yet to discover. He claimed he knew everything about her. Ha! He might know the names of every one of the men she had slept with when she came home, something even she didn’t know, but he didn’t know she liked spicy food. It was a small, lonely triumph, but she’d take what she could get.
She moved into the sterile kitchen. The chili was bubbling away on the gas stove, smelling divine. She opened the giant refrigerator and found avocados at the perfect stage of ripeness, a block of Monterey Jack, bottles of Guinness and . . . oh, praise God, Diet Coke.
She set to work, grating cheese, peeling and slicing the fat avocados. James was probably a purist, eating his straight, but she liked all sorts of things in her chili, including crushed tortilla chips, and he was going to have to take it that way. She filled two bowls, grabbed one and a bottle of Guinness, and plopped them down in front of him.
“Eat,” she said. She had no idea why she was taking care of him . . . oh, yes she did. She needed him in decent shape to get her to New Orleans so she could get away from him. She was only being practical.
He finally glanced up at her, about to say something, but the words stopped in his mouth. His eyes ran the full length of her, the unfortunately low-cut bodice, the long, flowing skirt, her bare feet. He stared at her feet for a long moment, as if he’d never seen them before, and then when he lifted his eyes, he had his usual sardonic expression on his face, the one she wanted to slap.
“I see you decided to dress for dinner. Should I be flattered?”
“You should shut your mouth and eat,” she snapped.
“Now if you could explain how I can manage that I’d be much obliged,” he drawled, leaning back in the chair.
“You shove it up your ass.” She stomped back to the kitchen to grab her own bowl, ready to retreat to her bedroom, but the passageway was too small and he simply blocked it with his long legs.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“I think eating around you would spoil my appetite.”
“Stop being a baby, Angel. I don’t need any added drama right now.” He rose, all fluid grace, and took the bowl and the soda from her hand. “Get us silverware and a bottle opener. There are some peppers in the crisper—bring those too.”
She would have felt ashamed of her pettish behavior if he hadn’t started flinging orders at her. She was being childish, and that only gave him more power over her. “All right,” she said evenly, heading back into the kitchen. There were fresh jalapenos, serranos, and habanero chilies, and she took one of each and rinsed them under water before putting them in a bowl and setting them in front of him, along with the utensils.
The small area adjacent to the kitchen had clearly been meant for a breakfast nook, but the table in it had been shoved against the window to make room for the computers, and he’d already set their food down there. She took her seat, then met his eyes.
For a moment she froze. His expression, which he quickly shuttered, was hotter than the habaneros, and it shook her. She’d been telling herself he didn’t want her. No matter how quickly he hid that look, she couldn’t pretend it hadn’t existed. He might have nothing but contempt for her, but that didn’t mean he didn’t want her, at least on an elemental level.
“You want to say grace?” he drawled, breaking the uncomfortable silence.
She bit back her instinctive wisecrack. “No,” she said, opening her soda and taking a good swallow before digging into the chili. She’d give it a pretty mild rating—she’d once made a study of the Scoville scale and chili peppers in her undergraduate years and things tended to stay with her, deep in the recesses of her brain. If James was going to eat any of the freshly washed peppers, he was going to need an iron constitution. Jalapenos were very hot, serranos were blazing, and habaneros were nuclear.
He looked down at his bowl, loaded down with avocado and cheese and crushed chips. “What is all this?” he asked with a faintly derisive tone. “Can’t manage your chili straight on? Tell me you don’t put it on top of spaghetti and sprinkle cinnamon on top.”
“Cincinnati chili doesn’t deserve the name.” This chili was delicious, but relatively mild, and she contemplated the hot peppers in front of them.
He took a bite. “Yeah, well this stuff is too fucking bland.”
“Don’t blame me. I didn’t make it.”
He reached out and took the jalapeno. With deliberation he bit off the end, then followed it with a forkful of chili. He didn’t break a sweat. “That’s better.”
“Is that supposed to impress me?” Before she thought better of it, she took the jalapeno from his hand and bit into it, where his mouth had been, taking a larger piece. The seeds were the hottest part, spicy and delicious against her tongue, and it blended beautifully with her next bite of food.
He raised an eyebrow, taking a swig of beer. “It looks like you’re the one who’s trying to impress,” he said. He rose, headed back to the fridge, and a moment later returned with two more beers. He opened one and shoved it at her, keeping the other one for a refill. “Chili needs to be eaten with beer, not belly wash.”
“We should have Dos Equis, not Guinness, if you want to be a purist.” She took a drink of the beer. It did blend better with the hot spices.
“You can’t have everything.” He reached for the serrano chili, then glanced at her. “Just how tough are you?”
“Obviously tougher than you ever realized. So much for knowing everything about me,” she said sweetly. “That’s not another jalapeno in your hand.”
“I know.” He bit off the end of it, ate a forkful of chili, and then drank almost half the bottle of Guinness. It was a good thing he’d brought himself a second bottle. He then held the pepper out to her in a deliberate challenge.