“What can I mix for you?”

“I already have a glass of wine.”

She went into the kitchen, leaving him alone, and presenting him with an ideal opportunity to plant the listening device. The room transmitter weighed practically nothing, but he was as aware of it in his pants pocket as he would have been of a boulder.

Talia and Jasper spent a lot of time on their porch, sitting side by side in twin rocking chairs. He would like to be privy to those conversations, but the environment wasn’t an ideal place to hide the electronic transmitter. It would be susceptible to humidity and dust. Inside the house would be less corrosive and better for clearer reception.

He poured himself a bourbon on the rocks and took it with him as he wandered over to the open door of the kitchen and looked in. “Ah. You can cook.”

Talia shot him a glance over her shoulder from where she stood at the range. “I can boil water. Which is what I’m doing for corn on the cob.”

He went inside and walked over to her. Three ears of corn, still in their husks, lay on the counter. “They’re better cooked in the microwave.”

She turned toward him and slid the towel off her shoulder. “Jasper wouldn’t hear of it.”

“Jasper isn’t here.” He set his drink on the counter. “Where’s your microwave?”

She pointed to where it fit inside the cabinetry. “Are you sure about this? These are all we have, so if you ruin them—”

“I won’t. Observe and learn. Step one. Pick ripe ears of corn off stalks in field. Oh, done that already.”

She laughed.

“Step two, place ears of corn into microwave.”

“Shucks and all? Without washing them or anything?”

“As demonstrated.” He used flourishing motions like a magician to place the ears of corn in the oven. “Close door.”

“That’s step three?”

“No. That’s the second part of step two.”

“I see,” she said with a seriousness belied by the smile she couldn’t contain.

“Step three is to set the timer to cook on high for four minutes for each ear of corn.”

She counted on her fingers. “Twelve minutes.”

“Very good, sous chef. Maybe you should be writing this down.”

She tapped her temple. “Taking notes.”

“Good. Because you’ll want to remember.”

“Says you.”

“Trust me.”

“Not as far as I can throw you.”

This time her serious tone wasn’t phony, and it took Drex aback. His teasing smile collapsed. “Why not?”

She ducked her head and gave it a small shake. “Never mind.”

“No. I’d like to know why you said that.”

Raising her chin, she looked him straight in the eye. “You’re way too cool.”

“Way too cool for what?”

“Way too cool to be real.”

“Oh, I’m real, Talia.” He spoke in a low and vibrating tone that coincided with him dropping his gaze to her mouth. She didn’t step back, but her breath caught and held.

The moment lasted for only a heartbeat, then he looked back into her eyes and resumed the ribbing manner. “I’m real hungry. Let’s get cooking.” He set the timer on the microwave and dusted his hands.

“Now what?” she asked.

She tried to sound as jocular as he but didn’t quite manage it. He hadn’t touched her, but his closeness had shaken her, and the male animal in him wanted to purr with satisfaction.

But he wasn’t there to seduce her. He didn’t want her to become even more mistrustful of him than she’d already admitted to being. He needed her to be relaxed around him. Comfortable and chummy and chatty. He needed her to talk about her husband, so he could determine if Jasper Ford, seeming law-abiding suburbanite who had run a husbandly errand, was in actuality the twisted fuck who had buried Marian Harris alive.

So he tamped down the surge of testosterone and reclaimed his drink. Raising it in a toast, he said, “Now, I drink my bourbon, and you drink your wine while you anticipate the best corn on the cob you’ve ever eaten.”

She peered dubiously through the microwave window at the ears of corn rotating inside, then shrugged. “Okay. How about out on the porch?”

Following her from the kitchen, he tried not to fixate on how nicely her light denim skirt molded to her bottom. From those enticing curves it flared out and stopped short of her knees by several inches.

Her top was a black, body-hugging, stretchy thing with armholes cut high enough to reveal a lot of shoulder. He spied a few freckles beneath the strands of hair that had escaped her topknot and curled against her neck.

He wanted to give all of it a thorough, hands-on inspection.

She sat down in the rocker that he knew to be hers from having spied on her and Jasper. He was about to take the other chair, but hesitated. “Should I save this for Jasper?”

She motioned him into the chair and took a sip of wine. As they settled into their seats, she asked, “Did you write today?”

“For several hours.”

“You were at it for a long while last night.” He gave her a quizzical look; she looked embarrassed. “Your shades were up and the lights were on. I saw you sitting at the computer.”

He groaned. “I didn’t do anything uncouth or indecent, did I?”

She gave a soft laugh. “Not that I saw.”

He thought about what he’d done in his bed inspired by fantasies of her, and it wasn’t entirely faked when he swiped his brow with the back of his hand as though greatly relieved. “Whew.”

“I think writing must be harder work than most people realize.”

“I can’t speak for other writers, but for me, it’s damn hard. I did a run on the beach this afternoon just to work the kinks out.”

“Muscles tend to kink after sitting at a computer for long stretches of time.”

“True, but I was referring to the kinks in my plot.”

“Oh,” she said, laughing. “Did the run work them out?”

“After a couple of miles, some of them smoothed out a little.”

“Good.”

He extended his legs in front of him and crossed his ankles. “What about your work? Are you off again any time soon?”

“Next week. In the meantime, I’m pulling together an itinerary for a client who wants to take his entire family to Africa for a month-long tour. First class all the way. Several countries, game preserves, Victoria Falls, Cape Town, photo safaris in the bush.”

“Sounds scary.”

“I don’t send my clients anyplace that I deem unsafe.”

“No, the scary part would be traveling for a month with family.”

“Eight adults, eleven children.”

He shuddered. “Terrifying.”

She laughed, then turned more serious and looked into her glass of wine as she ran her index finger around the rim. “Jasper told me that you’re divorced. Any children?”

“No.”

She said nothing for a time, then, in a lighter tone, “He also told me about your encounter last night.”

“Next time, I’ll phone ahead before I come prowling across your backyard. When Jasper came barging around that tree, I thought I was a goner.”