“I don’t think age matters.” She smiled at him over the rim of the glass. “She’ll take you as is.”
He snorted. “I doubt it. Most women want to change me.”
“How so?”
“At first, they try to get me to change my clothes. Jeans and T-shirts lose their appeal after a while. Then most women think I’m not fluent in feelings. Things disintegrate when they discover how bullheaded I am about keeping my feelings to myself.”
Jaye sighed. “Some girls can’t leave well enough alone.”
“Well enough alone?” His gaze narrowed. “Are you saying I shouldn’t change?”
“Right. Drives me crazy when women expect men to act like women. We should celebrate our differences, which attract us to each other in the first place.”
He picked up the cookies and tilted the open bag toward her. “Sex is at the top of every man’s list. Where does sex land on most women’s lists?”
“We like sex, too.” She took a cookie and nibbled the edge, savoring the sweet chocolate chips buried within the crisp vanilla.
Mitch’s gaze intensified. “How do women choose their partners?”
“Depends on what they need.” Maybe the darkness made being candid easy, or maybe Jaye felt comfortable admitting the truth because Mitchell Blake was far less forbidding in bare feet and gym shorts. Either way, she found herself saying, “I just want someone who will tell me the truth. If I stumble upon an honest man who’s willing to rub my feet at night, I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off him.”
“Feet, huh?” Mitch put down the cookies and shifted his weight. “What if he’s the type who doesn’t like to talk much?”
She carried her juice to the edge of the kitchen and tossed him an impish grin. “If he tickles my feet while we watch football, he never has to say a single word.”
“Lucky guy.”
Chapter Eleven
The biting wind pushed a heavy quilt of clouds across the sky, but the dismal sight didn’t dampen Mitch’s good mood. He tossed a bag of garbage into the dumpster and scanned the factory’s parking lot. Jaye’s silver coupe sat beside his truck, which meant she was already tucked away in her corner of Blake Glassware. With any luck, she was coming up with another team-building scheme involving him in some curious way.
He’d been scheming, too—coming up with ways to get closer to the meddlesome pixie who’d scampered into his life. So far, he hadn’t acted on those dangerous impulses. Pursuing one of Blake Glassware’s employees would be a boneheaded maneuver.
Then again, he hadn’t hired Jaye. Technically, she didn’t work for him.
Mitch strode toward the administrative wing and reached the old broom closet serving as Jaye’s microscopic office. He leaned one shoulder against the doorframe. The sight of her sitting at the decrepit old desk made him feel like a lit bottle rocket, ready to shoot into the sky. “Hey.”
She grinned at him. “Hi.”
Attraction exploded inside him. As usual, she wore a crisp white blouse paired with a skirt. He watched her lean over the arm of her chair to pull something out of her briefcase. The skirt’s hem rose a couple of inches along the lean, mouth-watering thighs he’d been trying not to drool over for the past eleven days.
He wanted those legs wrapped around his hips.
Jaye placed a file beside her laptop. “Can I do something for you?”
Hell, yes. He muzzled his runaway libido and manufactured a disapproving scowl. “A few days ago, you threatened to make liver for dinner. Tell me you were joking.”
“Nope.” With a pretty smirk, she resumed typing. “It’s Wednesday. Like I told your brothers, we’re having liver and brussel sprouts. They’re nutritious.”
“I prefer burgers and steak.” He wished Jaye had never admitted she liked sex. Now he couldn’t stop wondering what she’d do if he gave into the powerful urge to kiss her beautiful mouth. “The only way you’ll tempt me to eat what’s on the menu is if you ladle some leftover meatballs on top of my liver.”
“Your liver is already covered in meatballs.” She flicked her chestnut bangs out of her eyes and squinted at him. “Don’t you remember eating the leftover spaghetti and meatballs last night while I was at Veronica’s house?”
“Nope. Wasn’t me. Must’ve been a mouse.”
“A very big mouse. He didn’t leave any meatballs behind for my lunch.” She returned her gaze to the laptop’s screen. “I’m thinking of setting a trap for the pesky creature.”
Mitch’s gaze sank to her sexy black heels. Ever since she confessed she couldn’t keep her hands off an honest man who rubbed her feet, he’d been trying to come up with a way to take off her shoes without looking obvious. Every time he thought about slipping off her shoes, he longed to move his hand in the opposite direction toward the sexy curves under her prim skirt.
His lit fuse zipped straight to his groin, igniting a dangerous throb. Crap. What were they talking about? Oh, right. Mice. “If you want to catch the mouse who ate the leftovers, bait the trap with steak and potatoes. The mice around here are finicky eaters.”
“Finicky?” She laughed. “The mouse in your house is more like a bottomless pit.”
Her smile made Mitch feel ridiculously happy. “Be careful. No telling what the mouse will do if you feed him liver.”
“I’ll take my chances.” She rose from her desk and inched the door closed. “If you don’t mind, I’ve got work to do. One of the guys I work for is a little touchy about consultants. I don’t want him to think I’m goofing around on the company dime.”
He braced his foot so the door couldn’t close all the way. “Is he the grumpy guy with short hair? I hear he’s a real hard-ass.”
“Yes. Don’t worry, though. I know what to do if he gets ornery.” Half her face peered around the door, one warm brown eye glinting with mischief. “All I have to do is tickle him.”
“You’d better not. He tickles back.” He slid his shoulder down so he was eye-to-eye
