A Prince Of A Guy

The way to his heart is through his stomach.

Well, Carlyne didn’t want his heart, though his body would be nice.

And yet she was rather hungry. But where to start?

Until she’d come here, she’d never done more than boil water or push the buttons on the microwave. She’d never seen her own mother in a kitchen, other than to thank the chef.

But really, how hard could it be? She was a college graduate, for God’s sake. She could do this. After rolling up her sleeves, she cracked some eggs and dropped them in a pan, contemplating the stove for a moment before turning on the burner. Eggs, no problem. She shoved bread into the toaster. Easy enough. Then she threw some sausage in another pan and flicked on that burner, too. Pancakes took some extra doing, as she had to open the one and only cookbook she found, but following a recipe was easy. Any idiot could do that, right?

So why was the batter thick and sticky enough to form sidewalks?

She was contemplating that when the eggs started making an unusual popping sound-or maybe not unusual, she really had no idea. But when she tried to stir the boiling mess, it was…rubber.

Probably not good. Then she smelled smoke.

Oops. The toaster was on fire. Definitely not good. With a little screech, she snatched it away from the paper- towel rack, pulled the cord from the wall in the process, then promptly dropped it to the floor.

“Ouch!” There was a smoldering toaster at her feet, and the eggs were still popping, probably close to igniting, too. She was a complete and utter failure at being normal, and oh, my God, she’d set her bunny slippers on fire when she’d dropped the toaster.

That was it, the final straw, and the princess who never cried burst into tears. Then suddenly a big, tough, strong body sat her down on the floor and was slapping at the flaming bunny heads.

While she sat there staring at the burned fuzz, sniffling, overwhelmed by a bad case of self-pity, Sean efficiently and quickly smothered the small flame still coming out of the toaster.

He reached up and turned off the stove.

Then-and this was the part she’d never forget-he dropped to his knees, scooped her against that chest that was even more magnificent up close and personal, and peered into her face.

“You okay?” he demanded hoarsely. “Are you hurt?”

He had the most amazing eyes. And those hands…hands that were at this very moment running over her body, looking for burns, she supposed.

“Carly?”

Oh, my, he felt good. She felt good.

“Carly!”

He’d plastered her against him so they had full body contact, which was fabulous as all he wore was jeans- unfastened. And okay, yes, it had been way too long since she’d felt such delicious contact, but it wasn’t the lack of sex in her life that was making her dizzy.

It was Sean.

“Carly! Talk to me!”

His rough, edgy voice was like a bucket of cold water. While she’d been melting into a little pool of longing, he was anxious and probably furious. He certainly wasn’t helplessly turned on, not as she was, and why would he be? She wasn’t a glamorous princess, but a normal plain Jane. This man could have any woman he wanted-why would he want her? “I’m…” Pathetic. “…fine.”

Not satisfied, he reached for her hair, probably to smooth it out of her face, and she catapulted into action, because what if he dislodged the wig? Leaping to her feet, she grabbed for a kitchen towel. “Don’t worry, I’ve got everything completely under control now.”

“Carly-”

“We’re lucky I wore out the batteries on your smoke detectors yesterday.” She bustled around, tossing dirty pans into the sink, avoiding his gaze. “I promise, I’m not in the habit of setting the kitchen on fire every time I make breakfast.”

Mostly because she’d never made breakfast before.

Darn it, this was all Mrs. Trykowski’s fault.

Rising to his feet, Sean glanced at the flat, lumpy pancakes. Then at the burned-to-a-crisp sausages and rubber eggs. He raised an eyebrow. “Do this a lot, do you?”

“Sure.” Another pan hit the sink. It would probably never come clean, not with her expertise, anyway. “Every morning.”

“Really?” His expression changed, went guarded. It was as if he just…vanished. He was standing right there in front of her, yet he was gone. Eyes flat, mouth grim, gone. “And you’re not hurt?” he asked in a polite voice twenty-five degrees cooler than he’d been only a second ago.

“No. Sean…”

He avoided her gaze. “As you’ve mentioned, cooking isn’t in your job description. I’ll handle it from now on.”

“But-”

No buts. He’d recognized the lie, was probably disgusted. He walked out the door.

5

SEAN TRIED to immerse himself in work. It should have been easy.

But he couldn’t concentrate. It had never happened to him before, this blankness when it came to designing. Yet every job he looked at, every file, every single blueprint faded away, leaving him instead with the image of Carly when he’d walked out of the kitchen yesterday morning.

She’d been trying to make them breakfast. Why, he had no idea. It was painfully obvious she didn’t have a clue. And it was equally, painfully obvious he had a problem.

First, he’d lost more than a few brain cells when he’d pulled her against his chest, but the embrace had been driven by a real fear that she’d burned herself. Instead, he felt scorched. The sweet scent of her, the softness of her skin…the catch of her breath.

It all reminded him of how he’d felt when they’d kissed. Whole. He’d felt whole.

But then he’d watched her luscious lips form the words “every morning” to his question of how often she cooked, and he’d heard the lie. He’d heard it, he’d seen it, he’d felt it.

And he’d lost it. That simple.

Tina again, of course. Still torturing him with memories. Well, dammit, he was over her. Over and moved on.

But damn if he’d trust anyone in the near future or let a woman ever hurt him again.

He finally got into his work, but for the first time in his life, he had to force himself. All he could think about was how the house was faring. He hoped it wasn’t on fire or destroyed. He hoped everyone was in one piece.

He hoped…ah, hell. He was full of it. He wanted to see Melissa. He wanted to see Carly.

But by the time he got home, it was yet again very late. Too late. The house was still standing, thank God, but quiet. No Melissa. No Carly. They were both asleep.

Well, good. This was what he’d wanted. Peace and quiet. Yep. Perfect.

To prove it to himself, he worked like a fiend for several more days, without taking a breather, with no more than a quick check on Melissa, who was apparently thriving. As promised, he made sure to leave an easy breakfast waiting for them and something for dinner, as well, or money for take-out.

While he was doing all that, he couldn’t shake the new and entirely unwelcome feeling that work was keeping him from something important.

From something like…his life.

CARLYNE COULDN’T believe it. Sean managed to avoid her for days. This was a new experience, being avoided, ignored, and she didn’t like it.

But this was his world. He could defy her, ignore her, fire her. Anything. He was in