Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 87943 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87943 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
“It’s a lot of house for two people.”
Geoffrey paused, the wooden spoon in mid-air as he looked over his shoulder. “You judging, Mister Larsen?”
“No, of course not.” Sven marched into the kitchen and stopped beside him. “I promise, no judgment here.”
His smile, both genuine and kind of heart-stopping, gave Geoffrey pause. Sexy hell, the man was really beautiful. He gulped, hoping to dislodge the lump that had lodged in his throat.
“You don’t have to cook for me while I’m here,” Sven said. “I’m responsible for my own meals. I’m here to protect, not mooch. Or socialize.”
Ouch. “I have to cook for me, so why wouldn’t I?”
“Again, I’m not here for things like meals.”
I will not throw the spoon at the giant. I will not throw the spoon at the giant. “You’re like a fucking robot sometimes, Mister Larsen.”
Sven didn’t respond.
Geoffrey’s shoulders slumped, fingers wrapping around the spoon he kept in the pan. “I miss cooking for my brother, and I’m still rattled from what happened last night.” He peeked up at Sven through his lashes, using a look that had gotten him his way more times than he could count. “Cooking for you will cheer me.”
The slightest grin tilted Sven’s mouth. “I hope you don’t think you’re being sneaky bringing up the brother.”
That was more like it. Geoffrey knew he was all teeth then when he beamed at Sven. “So you’ll eat while you’re here then. Good. But I’ll warn you, most of the stuff I make is pretty basic. I cooked for my brother who was the pickiest kid alive, so most of my repertoire includes pasta. But I could always get him to eat this.” He tossed in the peppers and mushrooms, then frowned. “Crap. Forgot to put on the rice. Here.” He held out the spoon to Sven who frowned at him. Rolling his eyes, he pulled him to the stove, noting the warmth of his wrist as he did. “Stir that for me while I get the rice on.”
Sven quietly stirred.
“We’ll have to do jasmine instead of brown—my favorite—because it takes too long. That was one of the ways I sneaked nutrition into my brother’s diet.” God, he was babbling. Shut the hell up, Geoffrey! “Brown rice has a ton of good things in it. I bet you know that, though, don’t you?” He plopped a saucepan of water on the stove and set it to boil. He looked Sven up and down. “With a body like yours, you have to eat healthy, huh? And probably a lot of whatever it is, too. I doubled what I usually do for Finn and me.”
He stepped closer, absorbing more of the man’s heat. Despite the summer temperature, Geoffrey had been cold since he’d awakened and realized someone had been in his house. One more step and he could absorb even more warmth. He put his hand on the man’s arm, then couldn’t resist sliding it up just a little to squeeze the muscle. Damn, he was firm.
Sven handed him the spoon and stepped away fast. He moved to the other side of the island, oddly graceful for someone with so many thick muscles.
Geoffrey knew the sigh that fell out of his mouth had all the drama of an exasperated drag queen and he didn’t care. “So tell me about yourself,” he said as he turned back to the stove.
“I’m not here to make friends, Mr. Ralse.”
Geoffrey growled. “Stop it with the mister stuff. I hired you, right?”
“Yes.”
“That means I’m your boss. Call me Geoffrey.” He threw a wink over his shoulder. “Or I have other pet names you could use. Anything along the lines of hottie, lover, ultimate sex god…or boyfriend. I wouldn’t mind any of those.”
Sven’s lips tightened. Another strand of long blond hair had come out of the bun and lay against his cheek, caught in his close beard. He’d worn his beard long when Geoffrey had first seen him but he’d trimmed it back. Like the bun, the shorter beard suited him.
When it became obvious he wasn’t going to respond, Geoffrey’s back went stiff. This wasn’t going to work at all if he was going to just stand around like a statue. “Are you from this area?”
“No.”
“How long have you lived here?”
“Two years.”
“Any family here?”
“Yes.”
He waited. And waited. With jerky movements, he got down the Marsala wine, soy sauce and spices. He started mixing them in a bowl, whipping the fork hard. Then he growled and turned to face Sven and crossed his arms. “Really? You can’t even tell me who moved here with you?”
“My sister.”
“Do you have any other siblings?”
“Yes.”
“That’s it?” Geoffrey lifted an eyebrow. “Okay, this is how it works. People show interest in you. They ask questions. But those questions are more like prompts. You know, to get you to share more. So, you do.”