Okay, maybe flirting.
Perhaps the bra and new sweater had been worth it after all. Brynn had been right. There were ways other than obvious cleavage to call attention to the girls.
Thinking about her sister made her feel guilty. Would Brynn mind that Sophie was cozying up to her ex-boyfriend in his home, about to eat a home-cooked French meal? Hell, had Brynn been here before? She hadn’t that night of the awkward double date, but she could have come over at some point after that.
The thought bothered Sophie more than it should, considering this wasn’t even a real date.
Gray snapped his fingers in front of her face. “Where’d you go?”
Pushing Brynn out of her mind, she settled onto one of his bar stools, taking another sip of wine. “Oh, I’m just wondering exactly how experimental you’re thinking of getting tonight.”
He raised an eyebrow at her, and she felt unexpectedly tingly.
“Food, Gray, I was talking about food.”
The corner of his mouth hitched up in what she was beginning to realize was his version of a smile. “Ah. Well, in that case, let’s get you started on the first course before you do that hungry sulky thing.”
“Okay, you have to know that discussing a woman’s appetite and generally implying she’s a glutton isn’t exactly going to get you laid, right?”
“I thought we were just talking about food,” he said archly.
“We are,” she sputtered, blushing. “I just mean, you know…for future reference with other women. Real women.”
“Are you saying a part of you is fake?” he asked, his eyes dropping again to her chest. She was appalled to find her nipples tightening. Luckily he couldn’t notice through the eight layers of push-up padding. God bless Victoria and her secret.
“Wow, accused of selling sex and of being plastic by the same man. How is it that we haven’t killed each other yet?”
He gave her a real smile this time, and she warmed a little at this slightly more friendly Gray.
“Would you like to help cook?” he asked.
“Not really, I’d much rather watch the master and drink all of your delicious wine.”
He nodded and pulled a tray of grilled asparagus out of the fridge. “Don’t touch that yet,” he snapped as she reached out to grab one. “I’m not done.”
She watched, fascinated as he proceeded to poach a couple of eggs and add them to the platter. Strips of salty prosciutto were added to the sides of the plate, and he finished the whole thing off with a drizzle of some fancy-looking olive oil and balsamic vinegar and croutons.
By the time he took a seat at the bar next to her, her mouth was watering.
“First course is served,” he said, handing her a fork. She was just about to spear a perfectly grilled vegetable when he grabbed her hand.
Startled by the contact, her eyes met his, and her mouth went from watering to dry. The man was more adept at seduction than she’d given him credit for. With nothing but a sultry look and the touch of a hand, she was practically panting.
“Don’t tell me I don’t get to eat this,” she joked, trying to break the unexpected tension.
Gray picked up his wineglass. “I’m a big fan of celebrating the food I cook before eating it.”
She blinked in confusion. “You want to pray?” Not that there was anything wrong it, but she hadn’t pegged him for the type.
“No, I just meant that I thought we should do a toast,” he said quietly.
And then she melted just a little more, because his expression had gone from looking seductive to slightly embarrassed. Feeling a rush of warmth for this complex, emotionally challenged man, she set down her fork, and dramatically cleared her throat as she picked up her wineglass.
“Ahem. I’d like to toast my dreamboat of a fake almost-boyfriend, who is, in addition to being a cuddly laugh-a-minute hottie, also a damned good chef. Not that I’d know because he won’t let me actually eat the food, probably because he thinks I’m annoying, gluttonous, and slutty, but—”
Gray clinked his glass to hers and let out a half laugh. She couldn’t help smiling back. She felt oddly proud of coaxing humor from someone who so seldom smiled. As she dug into the decadent dish, her sister crept back into her mind. Was Sophie sitting in the same spot Brynn had sat in when they were dating?
Was Sophie once again merely playing a part, whereas Brynn had been the real deal?
They ate in companionable silence, and common sense told her to keep quiet, but the wine flowing through her system had other ideas.
“What does Brynn think of your cooking?” she blurted out.
“We never quite made it to that stage.” He pushed a crouton around on his plate. “I don’t think I’d know what to talk about.”
“You seem to be doing fine with me,” she said, trying to keep the gloat out of her voice.
“Only because you forced your way into my life like a battering ram. My options are to talk to you or go deaf from your incessant chatter.”