Jenna grinned. ‘Noble’s my middle name. Why don’t you go away and I’ll call you when it’s ready?’
‘What, sit in the parlour and watch television on my chaise longue?’ Riley settled his long body onto a chair and placed his bare feet on the table. He leaned back, tilting his chair at a precarious angle and crossing his arms with the air of a man settling down to watch a show. ‘No way, Miss Svenson. For one thing, televisions and chaises longues are thin on the ground around here. For another, if you’re cooking my food then it’s my job to supervise. I can see that it’s my duty and I’m not a man to shirk my duty—especially if I can do it with a can of cold beer in my hand.’
‘Fine, then.’ Jenna swallowed the qualms she was feeling about being supervised by such a disconcerting male and she even managed a smile. She plonked two onions on the table, turned to the sink to collect a knife, and then faced him square on. ‘There is just one decision to be made.’
‘Which is?’ Riley was watching her with sudden caution. Which might have something to do with the very large knife she was now holding.
‘You have a choice,’ she told him. ‘The menu at the moment is stir-fried vegetables and rice, Chinese style. But unless those feet are removed, Riley Jackson, I’m adding fresh meat. Stir-fried toes, to be precise.’
She raised her knife.
There was a moment’s startled silence. He stared at the knife. He stared at his toes.
He stared at her.
His face changed.
It was as if he thought she meant her threat, she thought incredulously. Or maybe…maybe she was threatening something else. Something he didn’t want threatened.
The silence went on and on. Finally, still staring straight at her, he removed the offending toes.
‘Sorry, ma’am,’ he drawled and it was as if his drawl was to hide some deeper emotion. He sat back and steadied his chair. ‘My toes aren’t on anyone’s menu.’
‘Just as well,’ she managed, lowering her knife and looking at the man before her with a slight frown. It was as if there were an electric charge underlying this light-hearted banter and she didn’t understand it one bit. ‘It’s my bet any toes of yours would be as tough as old boots.’
CHAPTER THREE
IF THERE was one thing Jenna prided herself on, it was her ability to cook. Years of long school holidays where she’d been alone and a childhood where her only friends had been servants had driven her into the kitchen of her parents’ various homes and hotels. There she’d met possibly the only kindness she knew. In the process she’d learned fabulous cooking.
She needed all her skills now. To make a decent stir-fry with two fresh(ish) onions and everything else from cans was a skill in itself.
‘Why don’t you just chuck the lot together and stir?’ Riley demanded as she drained and dried every can of vegetables.
‘Because I’d end up with stew.’
‘What’s wrong with stew?’
‘To someone who survives on baked beans, probably nothing. But some of us have taste.’
He smiled, a low, lazy smile that had her curiously unsettled as he watched some more. ‘Why are you putting those vegetables to one side?’
‘I’ll feed Karli the basics. Rice and sauce will be easy to feed her when she’s three-quarters asleep. Then I’ll reheat and stir the crunchy vegetables in just before you and I eat. There’s nothing worse than snow peas that don’t crunch.’
‘I thought there was nothing worse than baked beans.’
‘Baked beans don’t even count in the worse stakes,’ Jenna said darkly. ‘Okay. Done. Stir this while I wake Karli.’
Somewhat to her surprise he did stir. Then, as she carried a dopey, half-asleep little girl back into the kitchen he surprised her further by holding out his arms to take her.
She hesitated. She wasn’t accustomed to receiving help and she half expected Karli to shy away. But Karli settled on Riley’s lap without a murmur, gazed at Jenna with eyes that were barely focussing and let herself be fed like a baby.
If she wasn’t really hungry she wouldn’t have been able to eat at all, Jenna thought, but she managed to get a good few mouthfuls into her before the little girl’s eyes sank closed again.
‘Thank you,’ she whispered to Riley as she gathered Karli up again to take her back to bed.
‘Think nothing of it.’ He smiled again, and once again that strange, unsettled feeling swept over her. She glanced at him uncertainly. But now wasn’t the time to examine why he was making her feel as she was undoubtedly feeling. She had to focus on Karli.
It took her a few minutes to settle the little girl back into bed, and when she returned Riley was scooping the stir-fry onto two plates. He’d added the crunchy vegetables all on his own.
‘I thought you’d never come,’ he told her. ‘I decided that your snow peas would definitely go soggy.’
‘I thought you didn’t care.’
‘I care.’ He gazed down to where every vegetable was clearly delineated in its succulent sauce, and the rice underneath was fluffy and fragrant. He closed his eyes and sniffed in appreciation. ‘Believe me, I care.’
‘What—with your baked beans going to waste in their crate?’
‘I guess I could just try this to be nice,’ he said grudgingly. He sat—and then had to make a wild grab for his plate as Jenna hauled it away. He missed. ‘Hey!’
‘There’s no need to be polite on my account.’ Jenna sat herself down with two plates before her. ‘I’ll nobly eat your share. You go bake your beans, Mr Jackson.’
His gorgeous grin swept back. ‘Miss Svenson, can I have my dinner back?’ His grin deepened as Jenna hauled his plate further away. ‘I really would like to try your dinner—and it’s greedy to eat that much by yourself.’
Jenna eyed him with caution. His grin was magnetic. Wonderful.
She wanted more of it.
‘Say please.’
‘Please,’ Riley said promptly and grabbed—and the first mouthful went down before Jenna even managed to smile. He tasted and his eyes widened in astonishment.
‘Wow!’
‘Don’t you want your beans?’
‘No way.’ He devoured another forkful and then another. ‘I’m thinking I might put a lock on the door and keep you here for ever. Silly girl to get off the train. Now you have a job for life.’
A job for life.
She didn’t answer. Suddenly her laughter died. She forced herself to keep on eating, but his words had hit an exposed nerve. The light-hearted banter she’d been indulging in was a camouflage.
She ate on, but she couldn’t stop thinking. A job for life.
What was she going to do now? How could she cope?
Riley had suggested keeping her here—locking the door—and there was nothing stopping him doing just that. Would Brian look for his daughter? Would her own father care?
No one would.
And Nicole was dead.
She looked up and found Riley’s eyes were on her, gently questioning. His grin had disappeared. ‘I won’t, you know,’ he told her.
‘You won’t?’
‘Keep you here.’ He smiled again, but now his smile was one of disarming gentleness. ‘You know, if I