Page 28 of All For You

I relaxed a little and even whistled a tune, confident in our victory and that it would keep Wills from spending time with Jane and falling in love with another woman who might only want him for his money and status.

Lizzy disappeared, and after a few minutes, I heard her soft footfalls and the dogs clicking down the stairs and out the front door. Through the window, I could see her running barefoot around the back garden, throwing a stick. Lizzy’s movementswere sure and fluid, like she was still dancing, her dress swishing close around her hips, her turns revealing her ankles and calves. I contorted to catch her flashing brown eyes, her tumbling curls, her flushed cheeks.

It wasn’t only her fresh looks. A twinkling energy pulsed from her, creating unrest throughout my body. Heat simmered deep in my core, her every turn and step catching me scarily off guard.

Suddenly, all the need and hope and heat I’d kept on lockdown thrashed their way out of my carefully calmed façade. How did this casual sight of her ignite such a raging fervor inside me? Even though I had that chopping to attend to, then rolling out the pastry—however the hell you were supposed to do that—I couldn’t drag myself away from the window. I twitched ridiculously at the curtain to keep myself hidden but trying to see more. What was it about me and bloody curtains now?

Lizzy bent over for the stick, and I leaned closer.Jesus, man, are you really trying to cop a look down her neckline? Get back to your bloody chopping, you creep.

I swished the curtain shut with a savage hand.

After ten minutes, I checked outside again, restricting myself to one glance. She was ushering the dogs inside, and then I heard them click back upstairs to our respective rooms. I was disappointed I couldn’t spy—er,check—on her anymore, but excited she’d be heading back to join me in the kitchen. If we were a couple, I’d bet she’d wrap her arms around me and kiss me, help me finish quickly so we could snuggle up on that big couch by the fire, under the fuzzy blanket. And then our hands would start wandering under that blanket and…

I froze.

Why was I imagining we were a couple and we’d do this sort of thing on a Saturday morning? Not organizedevents, like I’d done with my ex, things that had always required different,specific clothing for her and loads of phone calls beforehand, days which ended at the latest bar or restaurant with the best seat in the house, surrounded by supposed friends who’d read about the hottest dish on the menu to order and were already posting selfies.

With Lizzy, I imagined this easy kind of hanging out. Before today, those sorts of thoughts had never entered my mind. I would have shuddered if they had. I wasn’t sure I liked how quickly my imagination had gone in such a bizarrely serene and settled direction.

Right now, however, was anything but easy. This bloody recipe would be the death of me, and the judging in front of us had my stress levels at a solid seven, but I could envision a win. Even better? The cameraman wasn’t hovering.

CHAPTER 15

Lizzy

Igot Max settled in Darcy’s bedroom and couldn’t help but pause. It was strange to be in his space, and I took a good look. His room was tidy and smelling of soap, beds made, windows open, clothes put away. This manor house was sprawling but was still probably smaller than even, say, the east wing or whatever of Pemberley, his manor house. He also probably had staff to do everything for him, but I liked that he respected where he stayed.

I skipped down the stairs, excited to see how Darcy’s cooking was going. I bumped into Harry coming in from outside. My body deflated, disappointed. Maybe because I was looking forward to talking to Darcy, just the two of us? When I entered the kitchen, Harry and his camera close behind, Darcy was vigorously scrubbing the dirty pots, soapy water splashing all over the kitchen island.

“This is for the birds.” Darcy caught sight of Harry, swore under his breath, and raised his eyes to heaven.

I thought I could venture with fair accuracy that this guy hadn’t done too much washing up in his near past. There were a lot of elbows and water and swearing. But as with upstairs,where he’d left his room tidy, at least he was not leaving the dishes for Trystan.

He looked up, still overwhelmed and not pretending, despite the camera. “It’s all done and in the oven.” He attacked another pot, suds leaking onto the kitchen floor.

“Awesome,” I replied, a little discomforted by his change in demeanor.

I sniffed. “What’s that smell?” I asked. An earthy odor filled the air. More than earthy—it smelledoff. I wrinkled my nose. Something wasn’t right.

“Must be the cheese,” he said, wiping up the floor. “Or the truffles.”

The randomness of his answer made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. This guy had no clue what ingredients smelled like. “But there were no truffles. And I know Stilton smells strongly, but what I’m getting is not a Stilton smell.”

“Then it must be burning?”

Urgency ripped through my torso, swift and sharp. “It’s not a burning smell.”

Whirling away from the sink, he shoved his hands into the oven mitts, lunged for the oven door, and yanked it open.

“What are you doing?” I asked, panicked, flying to his side. “Checking the dish?”

“I’m pulling it out. It’s burning.”

I moved closer. “No, don’t pull it out. It won’t be cooked.”

“Watch out, watch out!” He pulled the chicken out of the steaming oven.

I raised my hands and backed away. “It’s not burning. It hasn’t been in long enough. Put it back in.”