Chapter 9
Bianca eased the bedroom door open and stepped into the hallway, pausing for a moment to get her balance.
The hot shower had helped, but her knee still ached, a slow pulse that reminded her with every step that the crash had been real.
She didn’t look back at the sprawling bed with its dark blue comforter.
Adam’s bedroom smelled like leather and something distinctly male—clean soap, worn cotton, the faint bite of cedar.
Very appealing. The scent clung to her skin now, and that realization warmed her in a way the shower hadn’t quite managed.
She moved slowly down the short hallway toward the living room, one hand brushing the wall as she walked.
The house felt quiet and comfortable around her, the storm outside reduced to a steady drumming on the roof and a soft rush of wind along the eaves.
The calm inside the ranch house wrapped around her like a blanket.
Safe. Comfortable. Possibly dangerous in a very different way.
The living room opened in front of her, inviting and peaceful.
A long leather couch faced a stone fireplace that probably heated the entire house during the worst of Montana winters.
A thick woven rug covered the wooden floor, its pattern worn smooth in places from years of boots crossing it.
Nearby, a guitar leaned against the wall beside a wide chair, and a pair of battered cowboy hats rested on pegs near the door.
She could picture Adam here in the evening, boots kicked off, shoulders loose after a long day, maybe strumming that guitar while the fire cracked. The image arrived fully formed and far too intimate for a woman who had met him only yesterday.
Her knee protested when she took another step, the dull throb deepening as she crossed the room toward the kitchen. The oversized T-shirt Adam had given her brushed the tops of her knees, and the gray sweats were rolled twice at the waist and again at the cuffs just to keep her from tripping.
She looked ridiculous.
But she was warm.
After toweling off her hair, she’d braided it quickly so it wouldn’t keep dripping water down her back.
The kitchen light spilled across the floor ahead of her, and the smell tantalized her before she even reached the doorway. Garlic and tomatoes mixed into a rich aroma that made her stomach growl.
She stepped into the kitchen and stopped cold.
Wow.
Adam stood with his back to her, stirring a pot on the stove, having obviously changed clothes.
Dry jeans fit low on his hips, and a dark T-shirt stretched across his muscled shoulders.
His feet were bare against the worn wooden floor, and the kitchen light caught the damp edges of his hair where it curled at the back of his neck.
The sight spiked her pulse. For a moment she simply watched him.
The kitchen suited him the same way the rest of the house did, solid and practical and comfortable.
Open shelves held mismatched dishes and mugs.
Beneath the window sat a wide farmhouse sink that looked out over a creek barely visible through the storm.
To the right, a small country table rested in an alcove, already set with plates and silverware.
A bottle of red wine waited open beside two glasses.
The man had cooked dinner for her.
Adam glanced over his shoulder. His gaze slid down the length of the oversized shirt and rolled sweats before returning to her face. It lingered just long enough that warmth crept up the back of her neck.
“Well,” he said, amusement slipping into his voice, “those fit exactly how I expected.”
Bianca pushed away from the doorway and limped toward the table to sit. “I’m wonderfully content,” she said. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Adam turned back to the stove, stirring the sauce once more before draining a pot of pasta in the sink. Steam filled the kitchen for a moment, carrying the scent of garlic and herbs.
Bianca rested her elbows on the table and watched him. “You can cook?”
“Well enough to eat once in a while.” He plated the spaghetti, then carried the dishes to the table and set one in front of her. The sauce was thick and red, dotted with bits of tomato and herbs. “How about you?”
“I love to cook,” she admitted. “Lately I haven’t had much time to do so. In fact, I’d love to—” She cut herself off.
Adam sat across from her and poured wine into both glasses. “Love to what? I won’t judge.”
Instinct told her he wouldn’t judge her. What was it about this guy? From the first second she’d met him, she’d felt depths in him. Not that he hid anything about himself. That was rare anywhere, much less in the world she lived in right now. Hollywood.
“I’d love to have a greenhouse and grow my own vegetables and herbs,” she said finally. “Maybe even some fruit.” Her face warmed.
“Cool.” He nudged a bowl of grated Parmesan toward her. “Add this.”
Cool? That was it? No teasing. No comment about her living in Los Angeles. Just acceptance. She sprinkled some cheese on the dish, twirled a forkful of pasta, and took a bite. The sauce was rich and perfect. She pointed her fork at him. “You’re lying.”
Adam draped one arm across the back of the neighboring chair. “About?”
“You’re a fantastic cook.”
His mouth curved slowly. “I’d like to impress you, but I bought the sauce from Mrs. Hudson. She sells all sorts of glazes and jams, and I’m a repeat customer. Eat before it gets cold.”
She obeyed. Outside, thunder rolled across the hills again, softer now but still present. Rain continued to drum steadily against the roof. For a few minutes they ate in comfortable silence. Eventually the plates were empty, and the quiet between them shifted into a definite warmth.
Adam stood and moved around the table. He crouched beside her chair, his bare foot brushing the table leg as he reached for the rolled cuff of the sweatpants. “All right. Let’s take a look at that knee.”
Her breath caught as his fingers brushed her calf.
He lifted the fabric slowly, exposing her knee. The bruise had spread while she showered, dark purple bleeding into deep blue beneath the skin. The swelling made the joint look stiff and tight. Adam studied it carefully, his brow furrowing. Then his hands moved gently along the sides of the joint.
Heat spiraled through her, and not the painful kind. His fingers were warm and calloused. A little rough. “I’m okay,” she said, though her voice came out thinner than she intended.
His gaze lifted briefly, meeting hers. A quiet and intent look flickered there before he looked back down. “Yep,” he said softly. “Just bruised.” He rose and walked to the freezer, returning a moment later with a bag of ice wrapped in a kitchen towel.
She shifted in the chair as he placed it gently against her knee. Cold shot through the joint. She hissed.
“Sorry.”
“Not your fault.”
He kept one hand lightly on the towel for a moment, steadying it. His fingers brushed the outside of her thigh through the oversized sweats before he straightened again.
Desire zinged through her so quickly she nearly fell against the table. What was wrong with her? She worked around handsome men all the time.
“Keep that there while I get dessert,” he said. “It’s a pie made by Dawn Freeze that I bought at a fundraiser a few days ago. Huckleberry.”
Bianca brightened immediately. Huckleberries had been her favorite fruit as a kid. She lifted her glass of wine. “Yes, doctor.”
Adam returned with two generous slices.
She took one bite and nearly groaned.
Adam’s gaze lifted slowly from his plate.
She cleared her throat and straightened. “This house would be perfect for filming.”
“It’s not a good idea.” Adam dug into his pie.
Irritation rippled through her. “Why not?”
He sighed. “First, the town is in the middle of spring cattle season, and we don’t have time to deal with tourists and city people who get lost and get in the way.
Second, we’d rather not be discovered and have a bunch of them buy up land to use one week a year.
Third, that kind of thing never goes smoothly. ”
She lowered her chin. “I’ll make sure it does.” There wasn’t a choice. She couldn’t let Randi down. Not this time. Her phone buzzed on the counter, and she jumped.
“I grabbed your bag from the car when we left,” he noted, stretching one arm over his head to grab the phone. All sorts of impressive muscle shifted when he did so. He handed it over.
“Hello?” she answered.
“Hey. It’s Dawn Freeze. I heard you were in an accident. Are you all right?” Dawn asked.
Bianca blinked. “How did you hear that?” She’d only been at Adam’s for an hour. Tops.
“From Mrs. Milbury at the store,” Dawn said easily. “I don’t know where she heard it.”
Bianca made a face at Adam. “I’m fine, Dawn. Thank you for asking. Have you thought any more about us filming at your place? By the barn?” Although maybe most of the filming could be done at Maggie’s house, now.
Dawn’s sigh was heavy. “Hawk said no way. He’s usually reasonable, but it’s calving season, and we’re in full force here. He’s right. We don’t have time or room for movie people right now. If you could just come back in a few months…”
Bianca laughed. “There’s always the next movie.” She chatted a bit more with Dawn before ending the call. “How do you suppose she knew about the wreck?”
“I called Mrs. Shiller and told her not to worry about you for dinner,” Adam said.
Bianca slipped her phone onto the table, her body warming. That was incredibly sweet. Not only that Adam had called, but that Mrs. Shiller might’ve been worried.
Adam’s phone, also on the counter, dinged. “What is going on tonight?” he grumbled, reaching for it. “What?” he snapped.
Bianca chuckled. Why was his crankiness sexy?
“Oh,” he muttered. “Is that a fact?” His chin lowered as he looked at Bianca.
She chilled.
“Yep. No problem. I’m definitely in,” he said. “Thanks, Boyd.” He clicked off.
Heat blasted through her. “What was that about?”
“Just business.” His eyes deepened. “I’d rather just stay personal with you.”
Okay, that was sexy, and kind of sweet.
He stood and took the dishes to the counter, his movements slow and graceful. Then he returned, grasped the ice bag and tossed it across the room to the sink. “Guess we’d better get you back to town.” He helped her up.
For the first time in her entire life, Bianca didn’t want to be reasonable.
She didn’t want to be responsible. She wanted to freaking do the wrong thing and actually enjoy herself.
Actually have a personal life and not just a professional one.
“I don’t want to go.” Planting one hand on his chest for balance, she leaned up and kissed him.
Hard.