“Dinnae call me milord, Lara, no’ when I’ve heard ye call me Alistair.”
Alistair, touch yerself.
The memory, and the knowledge in his blue eyes, had her flushing.
I did that to him. For him.
And judging from his easy smile now, it was still working.
“As ye wish, Alistair,” she conceded, answering his smile with a small one of her own. “I’ll treat ye as my best friend’s older brother, aye?”
His eyelids lowered just slightly, giving him an aroused, intimate expression. “I’d rather ye treat me as a man, and I treat ye as a woman.” He lowered his chin and gave her a significant look.
Oh.
Oh, Blessed Virgin. Blessed Virgin!
Sucking in a breath, Lara tried to get her arousal—her entire body, thankyeverramuch—under control. It wasn’t easy.
There had to be something she could say in response to that delicious, delightful claim. Something which didn’t involve him thinking of her as a woman, pause, significant look. Something which didn’t involve his hands on her skin, or his lips, even better. Something which didn’t involve his penis. His shaft. His hardness. His—
“Cock!” she blurted.
When his eyes widened, she shook her head, aware her heart was beating far too fast, and her tongue had apparently developed a mind of its own. Time to get it under control.
“I mean, chicken,” she babbled, trying to cover her mistake. “Yer sister told me I shouldnae bother ye with talk of chickens, but since ‘tis my idea for the menu, I thought mayhap ye’d like to— God’s Blood, I’m making a mess of this.”
His expression had softened once more, and now he smiled, dropping his hand. “I’d love to hear yer thoughts on the menu, Lara.” He gestured toward the kitchen. “And seeing as how I havenae eaten, I’ll be happy to help while I do.”
Flushing again—in pleasure, she assured herself—Lara led the way to the kitchen’s door, trying to pretend everything was normal, and she hadn’t always dreamed of Alistair Oliphant appearing in her kitchen, asking to see what she was working on.
“Ye can sit there,” she offered, nodding to a stool near the table where she was working. The kitchen was empty this time of the morning; Cook and her helpers had since cleaned up from the morning porridge, but were not yet ready to prepare the main meal, and Alistair glanced around the room as he sat.
“What has ye out of the castle so early this morning?” she asked, as she arranged the thyme on a board and picked up her knife.
“I went for a ride.”
Surprised, she glanced up at him and caught his slight smile. “I’m glad,” she said, remembering the way he used to ride each morning. “ ’Tis good to take time for yerself.”
“Aye,” he drawled. “I was recently reminded I needed to take time to relax.”
Her own lips pulled upward as she bent over the herb, chopping it into tinier pieces. “Whoever told ye that must be verra smart.”
“Or care about me verra much.”
The knife froze. “Aye,” she managed to rasp, before resuming her chopping.
“So…” He cleared his throat, obviously searching for a topic of conversation less charged. “What are ye making?”
Ah, this she could speak about!
“Chicken. I’m frying it up.”
“Really?” From the corner of her eye, she saw him shift forward. “Does that no’ make it tough?”
Deftly, she scooped the thyme from her chopping board and dumped it into a bowl she’d already prepared with her flour and spices. “The secret is to use a young chicken,” she told him. “The pullet’s meat is still tender.”
“But for every pullet ye sacrifice to yer hot oil, ‘tis one less animal to lay eggs in the coming months.”
“True.” She pushed aside the bowl and reached for the chicken she’d already killed and plucked. “ ’Tis why the dish is so special. I thought yer father might enjoy it for his meal.”
Alistair propped his elbow on the table and leaned his chin onto it. “I’ll reserve judgement until I taste this special dish.”
Chuckling, Lara nodded. “Fair enough. Do ye want to help?”
“Nay.” When she glanced at him, he was eyeing her hips. “I think I’d prefer to just watch.”
He realized he’d been caught staring, but his unapologetic grin told her he didn’t mind at all.
Heavens, he had changed, had he no’? This side of Alistair was so much more relaxed, at ease…much like the man he used to be. The man she remembered from when she was younger.
He wanted to watch? Well, she could certainly accommodate him. After all, she’d watched him do all sorts of interesting things.
With the back of her hand, Lara brushed her long, blonde braid out of the way and offered him a grin. “Then prepare to be amazed!”
“I think I shall,” he murmured, his gaze sweeping over her.
His words should have embarrassed her, but instead, Lara felt like laughing. She was in her element, creating new dishes, and he was here! Just as she’d always dreamed.
So ‘twas in something of a daze that she began to chop the chicken, narrating her actions as she did. “I’m going to use small strips of the meat for this. I got the idea from one of Cook’s stories. Ye ken she believes in roasting everything she can get her hands on, which is delicious, I admit, but there’s just something about hot fat which traps the moisture in.”
“And I’ll wager it adds a different flavor.”
“Aye!” She shot him a grin as she finished slicing the meat from the pullet’s breast. “I’m using hog fat today, which is a flavor all its own.”
Before she moved to the next step, she went over to the basin of water and grabbed the soap.
“Ye’re fastidious,” he commented, as if surprised, as she washed her hands.
Chuckling, she shook her head. “Nae more than the next woman. But Father Ambrose was verra clear on the dangers of no’ washing yer hands
