Page 7 of Snow Bound (Odyssey #1)

The description made her lips twitch. “ I don’t think I met him.”

“Anyway.” He grabbed a towel from the stack in the mudroom and began to dry his dog. “ He doesn’t breach confidentiality, not for anyone. I couldn’t even get him to tell me your last name, or if Anna was your real first name or a scene name.”

“It’s my real name,” she said, her brow creased in thought.

With a last scrub for Henry , he tossed the towel on the floor to mop up the puddles. “ The eggs are burning.”

“Oh, shit.” She spun back to the stove to snatch up the pan while Henry wandered over in hopes of getting his share.

With the floor reasonably dry, Grant picked up the towel and tossed it back into the mud room. “ Are they salvageable?”

She carried the pan to the sink. “ No .”

“Sorry. I distracted you.”

“It’s okay.” She scraped the eggs into the trash and set the pan in the sink. “ I guess I owe you an apology, too.”

“For?”

“Calling you a jerk, and an asshole, and a…”

“Rat-fucking bastard?” he prompted.

Her gaze went sheepish. “ I was really pissed.”

“I noticed.” He smiled, remembering just how pissed. “ I can’t say I’m sorry for it.”

Surprise filled her eyes, and she tilted her head in an unspoken inquiry.

“Hate fucking is hot.”

Her eyes went wide, her mouth forming a little O of surprise. Then humor lit her gaze. “ I don’t hate you.”

“That’s not what you said last night.”

“Oh, well. That was what you might call situational hatred.”

His lips twitched. “ Fair enough. Any ill effects?”

“From last night?” She shook her head. “ No .”

“No bruising, no soreness?”

“A little of both,” she admitted. “ But nothing to worry about.”

He frowned. “ Where are you bruised?”

“My hands.” She lifted them, let them fall. “ From when you slammed them on the counter.”

“Let me see.” Ignoring her squawk of protest, he stepped forward and reached for her hands, turning them over to examine the faint blue tinges under her knuckles. “ Move your fingers for me.”

“They’re fine,” she insisted, flexing obediently. “ It doesn’t hurt to move them, just when I bump them on something.”

He smoothed his thumb over the faint marks, watching her face closely. Her face was relaxed, her eyes clear of discomfort. “ What about the soreness?”

“That’s just the usual.”

“The usual?” he prompted.

“Nothing a warm bath and Epsom salts won’t cure.”

“Ah.” Charmed , and uncomfortably aroused, he held her hands for a second longer before letting them go. “ Well . Do you mind if I grab some breakfast before I get on the road?”

“The road?”

“Back to Chicago .” He tried an easy smile. “ Out of your hair.”

“Oh. Right .”

“I can grab something on the way if it’s a problem,” he began, but she shook her head.

“I didn’t make all this bacon just for me,” she told him and nudged the platter in his direction. “ Help yourself.”

“Thanks.” He picked up a slice and crunched into it, eyeing her curiously. “ Something wrong?”

“No.” She reached for the carton of eggs. “ But you’re welcome to stay.”

He paused mid-crunch. She cracked eggs into the bowl, her movements fluid and relaxed, and when she glanced up, her eyes were clear. Still , there was something there he couldn’t quite read. “ Don’t you have people coming?”

She paused, a dripping eggshell in one hand, her brow furrowed in confusion. “ How do you know that?”

“I talked to my mom last night.” He chose another piece of bacon. “ She said you were having a family reunion?”

Her lashes lowered, and for a moment she looked…sad? Then her lashes lifted and she shrugged. “ I was, but there was a change in plans. It’s just me now.”

He kept his expression neutral, but his instincts were humming. Something had happened to make her unhappy, and he didn’t like it. He didn’t like it at all.

But it wasn’t his business, so he only said, “ For how long?”

“I’m sorry?”

“How long are you here?”

“Oh. Two weeks.” She tossed the eggshell aside and pulled out another skillet. “ What about you? How long were you planning to be here?”

He polished off the bacon. “ Two weeks.”

She picked up a fork and began to beat the eggs. “ I don’t mind if you stay.”

“I won’t be in your way?” he asked carefully, looking for any hint of unease.

“It’s a big house, and I’m just going to hang out. Watch TV , read, work on some craft projects I brought with me.” She glanced up, a smile curving her lips. “ Unless you’re going to spend two weeks learning to play the tuba, I doubt you’ll bother me.”

“No tuba lessons planned,” he assured her, still assessing. She wasn’t completely relaxed, and that something he couldn’t quite pin was still there. But he wasn’t picking up any unease or discomfort. “ I’d like to stay, if you’re sure.”

She tossed a chunk of butter into the hot pan, swirled it around, then poured in the eggs. “ I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t.”

“Then I’ll stay. And I’ll chip in for the groceries.”

“No need.” She dashed some pepper into the eggs. “ My mom ordered enough supplies for five people—before her change in plans—so there’s plenty of food.”

She shot him a glance from dancing eyes. “ Though we do seem to be out of apples.”

Appreciating her, he grinned. “ I’ll pick up some more when I go into town for dog food, as long they’ll be used as food and not missiles.”

She laughed and swiped a finger, cris-cross, over her heart. “ For pie purposes only, I swear.”

He could go for apple pie. “ Anything else you want?”

“Well…” She pursed her lips, and that something was back in her eyes. “ Since you asked, there is one thing.”

That something had anticipation humming to life. “ What is it?”

Spatula in hand, she turned to him with a siren’s smile. “ You do kind of owe me a scene.”