That thrill only deepened when she opened the door to Declan.
“Hello,” she said slyly, leaning against the doorjamb and crossing her arms. Her gaze dropped over the blue button-down and navy trousers, then settled on the simple badge on his broad chest. “Captain.”
“Hello.” He reached for her chin and tipped her face up to meet his gaze. “Doctor.”
“Are you here to raise a chandelier, or are you just glad to see me?”
“Both.” He laughed and came into the house, heading straight for the dog, who barked in greeting. “Hey, buddy. Is she corrupting you with off-color jokes?”
“Of course I am. And he thinks my bad humor is paw-some, right, Judah? It’s keeping us both from getting nervous about tomorrow.”
Declan straightened and turned to her. “I didn’t think you got nervous.”
“It’s been a while. I’ve been studying the surgery and looking over his images, so I have a plan, but I want to be ready.” She wrapped herself as if she were chilly, but the truth was she had to do something with her hands, or she’d reach out to grab hold of him.
Silent, he examined the massive chandelier that hung a little lower than eye level. “Sparkly.”
She lifted her hands. “I have the Brasso under my nails to prove it.”
He took those hands in his, examining her nails. “They look like surgeon’s hands to me.”
She wiggled her fingers. “They better be tomorrow.”
For a moment, he looked over their joined hands and into her eyes, long enough to make her knees a little weak and her toes curl in her sneakers. She tried to come up with a joke—anything—but her brain went blank as she stared back at him.
The only thing she could think of was how good it would feel to kiss him. A lot of kisses. All-night kisses.
So where was her joke? She had…nothing. Just raging hormones sending blasts of heat low in her belly that somehow managed to fry her sense of humor.
“I can get it up,” he said.
“Oh, I bet you can.”
“I meant the chandelier, and that was cheap and easy, even for you.”
She gave a playful laugh and poked his chest. “There’s so much I could do with cheap and easy.”
He rolled his eyes and snagged the finger pressing into him. “Remember I’m just off a twenty-four-hour shift, so I can’t keep up with your mind, even when it’s teetering on the edge of the gutter.”
“Oh, you must be exhausted.”
“Not at all, but I am starving, so let me get this chandelier up, and then I’ll be back to beg for food like a dog.” He tossed a look at Judah. “No offense, J.”
“I’ll make you dinner,” she offered quickly.
“Or we can go out.”
As appealing as a dinner date with Declan was, she shook her head. “Granddaddy was a little out of it, and I don’t want to leave Judah. I’d love to cook for you, though. I made my grandfather spaghetti and can whip up some more with a salad. Yours won’t even have to be cut in small pieces. Yes?”
“Are you kidding? Yes, please. Be right back.” He took the stairs two at a time, leaving Judah at the bottom, panting as he watched him.
“Clearly, I know how you feel, bud.” She guided the dog with her to the kitchen to start dinner, and Declan was back in less than five minutes.
She glanced at him, knowing the impact the attic had had on him last time he was there, but he seemed cool, calm, and kind of sexy in his work clothes. God, not kind of. Just totally hot.
Oblivious to her hormone-infused thoughts, Declan leaned down again to get close to Judah. “Is he eating anything these days?”
“A little. And he has to eat something before six tonight, last meal prior to surgery. I’m cutting up some chicken for him.” She turned with the dog bowl, and Declan took it, setting it down in front of Judah.
For a moment, the pure domesticity of it all hit Evie square in the gut, even more than her primal physical attraction. This was worse than hormones. This was…a physical ache.
The togetherness of cooking in the kitchen, with a dog, the late afternoon sun pouring golden light through the windows. What would it be like…
“He polished that right off,” Declan said, crouching to gently love on the dog. “Good boy, Judah.”
“Would you like wine?” she asked.
“Just ice water, thanks. I don’t drink much.”
“Really?” she asked, getting a glass from the cabinet while he washed his hands. “I remember that you liked to borrow your grandmother’s Irish whiskey now and again.”
“I’m famous for holding my drinks and not actually drinking them, if you ask my brothers. But don’t let me stop you if you want some wine.”
“Not tonight. I have surgery in twelve hours.”
While she poured them ice water, he stepped close to one of the antique oil lamps by the back door. “Please tell me you never light these.”
“Of course not. I doubt they would work, but they do have to be polished, sadly.”
“Want me to put that on the handyman list?” he asked, taking the glass she handed him.
“The list is getting longer, Declan.”
He clinked her glass. “More reasons to see you, Evie.”
She smiled and took a sip. “So you don’t drink because you think you could lose control, or because you never know when you might get called in?” she guessed.
“I stopped drinking once I had my family to take care of.” He angled his water glass and glanced at it thoughtfully. “Plus, once you have Jameson’s in a paper cup with your best friend, every other drink after that is a letdown.”
Jameson’s in a paper cup.
A ribbon of emotion curled through her at the memory as she tapped the glasses again. “To good drinks we’ve had in the past.”
She purposely let the conversation drop, asking him questions about work as she started the pasta water and pulled the salad fixings from the fridge.
Taking a
