Page 10 of Words of Love

“This year, yes.” Brooke looked at the floor. Apparently Sam hadn’t heard about her resignation. “Gramps assigned another reporter to cover it.”

He rearranged her soy milk and eggs to make room for a large container of chocolate pudding. “So what’re you doing here?”

“I’m working on a…um, project.” At least that was the truth. She was working onThe Brooke Project. “Could you please not shove my yogurt to the back like that?”

“I always put eggs on the bottom shelf.”

“I appreciate your organizational skills.” Reminding herself to be accommodating, she started toward him. “But do you really need that many cans of cinnamon rolls?”

“I like cinnamon rolls.”

Of course he did. From what she’d gathered, he liked everything food-related. Despite his lack of involvement in town, he could often be found having dinner and a drink at the Mousehole Tavern or pizza at Nico’s. Every time she saw him at a festival, not that she was looking for him, he was munching on a burger or a taco. Or three.

Hardly a wonder. He’d have to eat a lot to fuel that muscular body of his.

“Excuse me.” She grabbed the cinnamon rolls from him and bent to peer inside the fridge.

Though she’d intended to assert her dominance, she realized within about a nanosecond that she was at a distinct disadvantage bent over at the waist with Sam standing right behind her.

Literally—right behind her. If she backed up one step, her rear end would collide with his hard thighs. Then he’d probably only have to lift his hand a few inches to settle his palm against her ass. Only the thin cotton of her pajama pants would separate his hand from her bare skin.

Her breath shortened.

What was the matter with her? She’d always gotten a littlezingyaround him, but she’d never reacted to him like this before. She’d certainly never imagined him sliding his hand under the waistband of her pants to—

“Got it figured out?” His deep voice rolled over her, eliciting a wave of shivers.

Not wanting him to know he was getting to her, she responded cheerfully, “Almost.”

She fumbled to rearrange the food, shoving her yogurt into stacks and fitting his cinnamon rolls into the vegetable drawer. When she finally straightened and turned, he was still standing right behind her, his dark eyes gleaming with either amusement or heat. Or both.

Brooke swallowed and stared at the top button of his shirt. “So that’s done.”

“Good.”

She’d underestimated how small the kitchen would be with the two of them standing in it. Or rather, she hadn’t estimated it at all. Sam took up so much space that she was almost wedged between the sink and his body. Her nipples were still hard, too. Damned cold.

“I…uh, I’ll just try my cell booster again.” She held up her hands and squeezed past him, sharply aware of his gaze. She tried very hard not to notice the breadth and power of his body or to wonder what it would be like to press up against that solid wall of muscle.

God.

She stepped out of the kitchen, trying to control her erratic breathing. She busied herself with her cell phone again, though she already knew it wouldn’t work.

Sam made a lot of noise opening and closing drawers and cabinet doors. She deliberately turned her back so she couldn’t see him. Snow swarmed against the windowpanes, almost whiting out the glass entirely.

Okay, he really couldn’t go anywhere in this weather, which meant she was stuck with him until morning.

She couldn’t control the situation, but shecouldcontrol how she responded to it. And she would respond by sitting down and doing exactly what she’d come here to do. She just had to addignore Sam Donovanto the list.

Picking up her notebook, she sat back down on the sofa and concentrated on her list of ideas.

With a snort of amusement, she wrote,The Eroticism of Fruit.

Then she found herself idly picturing Sam eating an orange, first peeling the rind with his long fingers, then using his thumbs to cleave apart the wedges before sliding—

“You don’t have enough firewood.” Sounding annoyed, he stomped out the back door and returned with an armload of logs that would have taken Brooke three or four trips to carry in.

See? He was useful. Another point for the bright side.