Tough To Tame: Tough to Tame / Passion Flower

“Where do you want these?” Bentley asked when he’d scraped the plates.

“Just put them in the sink. I’ll clean up in here later.”

He looked around quietly. The kitchen was bare bones. There was an older microwave oven, an old stove and refrigerator, a table and chairs that looked as if they’d come from a yard sale. The coffeepot and Crock-Pot on the counter had seen better days.

She noticed his interest and smiled sadly. “We didn’t bring a lot of stuff with us when we moved back to San Antonio. We sold a lot of things to other servicemen so we wouldn’t have to pay the moving costs. Then, after Kell got wounded, we sold more stuff so we could afford to pay the rent.”

“Didn’t he have any medical insurance?”

She shook her head. “He said there was some sort of mix-up with the magazine’s insurer, and he got left out in the cold.” She removed the cover from the cake pan and got out cake plates to serve it on. Her mother’s small china service had been one thing she’d managed to salvage. She loved the pretty rose pattern.

“That’s too bad,” Bentley murmured. But he was frowning behind her, his keen mind on some things he recalled about her mysterious brother. If Kell was friendly with the local mercs, it was unlikely he’d gotten to know them in the military. They were too old to have served anytime recently. But he did know that they’d been in Africa in recent years. So had Kell. That was more than a coincidence, he was almost sure.

His silence made her curious. She turned around, her soft eyes wide and searching.

His own pale blue eyes narrowed on her pretty face in its frame of long blond hair. She had a pert little figure, enhanced by the white sweater and blue jeans she was wearing. Her breasts were firm and small, just right for her build. He felt his whole body clench at the way she was looking at him.

He wasn’t handsome, she was thinking, but he had a killer physique, from his powerful long legs in blue jeans to his broad chest outlined under the knit shirt. Beige suited his coloring, made his tan look bronzed, the turtleneck enhancing his strong throat.

“You’re staring,” he pointed out huskily.

She searched for the right words. Her mouth was dry. “Your ears have very nice lobes.”

He blinked. “Excuse me?”

She flushed to her hairline. “Oh, good heavens!” She fumbled with the cake knife and it started to fall. He stepped forward and caught it halfway to the floor, just as she dived for it. They collided.