The Complete Red-Hot And Historical Collection. Kelly Hunter

that Lena was missing her husband.

      ‘We could go visit them,’ she said on Wednesday afternoon over the phone. ‘Do you still have your private pilot’s licence?’

      ‘I haven’t flown for two years. I’ll need a review.’

      ‘Good thing I kept mine up to date, then.’

      ‘Brat. Do we still have a plane?’

      ‘We do.’

      ‘Does it go?’ Keeping the Cessna flight-ready had once been his task—back before Antonov.

      ‘Of course it goes. What good are toys if you can’t use them?’ Lena paused. ‘So what do you think? Want to go to Canberra? Because I think midweek visits to people we care about are important.’

      ‘I think you’re right.’

      Rowan liked Thursdays—and never more so than when a blue-eyed devil rang her at six-thirty, while she was still at work, and asked her to dinner that night.

      ‘Why aren’t you at the beach house?’ she wanted to know.

      ‘Lena decided to implement a must-see-Trig-midweek-and-have-dinner-with-him policy. She also has a plane, so we flew down.’

      ‘You people …’

      ‘You’re not going to talk carbon footprints, are you?’

      ‘No, I was going to stick with a comment about obscene wealth instead, but I’ve changed my mind. It’s good to hear from you.’

      ‘And dinner this evening? I know it’s short notice.’

      It was. Rowan eyed the number of case updates still open on her taskbar, all of which needed to be read and signed off on. Tonight.

      ‘What if I bring dinner to you?’ he said into her silence. ‘How late do you have to work?’

      ‘Can you give me another hour and a half? After which time I will be well and truly ready to leave.’

      ‘You want me to pick you up?’

      ‘Or you could meet me at my place with food in hand. There would be huge brownie points earned. Enormous. There could be vanilla bean and shaved chocolate ice cream for dessert.’

      ‘Do I need to bring the ice cream as well?’

      ‘No, there’s some in the freezer.’

      ‘I’ll meet you there,’ he said. And hung up.

      There was a lot to be said for walking towards the glass-walled lobby of her apartment block and finding a beautiful man waiting for her with a bag full of takeaway food dangling from his fingers.

      She watched those fingers tighten as she walked towards him, watched him catalogue everything about her—from the shoes she wore to the colour of her lipstick.

      She wondered if he saw what she saw. A woman of average height and mediocre looks. A woman who—on a personal level—people rarely waited around for.

      The closer she got the better he looked. The smell of delicious food wafted towards her, mixing and mingling with the faintest scent of him as she leaned in to brush her lips against his face, first one cheek and then the other.

      His gaze lingered on her lips for a satisfyingly long time after she drew back, the thrumming stillness of his body a sign that he’d liked her greeting a lot.

      He liked her lips—she remembered that.

      Gave thanks for that.

      They got in the elevator and she pressed the button for the top floor. He didn’t crowd her. He just watched.

      ‘Come on in,’ she murmured when finally she opened the door to her apartment, more than a little curious as to what he would make of her home.

      Neutral colours for the walls and a pale wooden floor, richer caramels and ivory colours for the bigger furniture items. No knick-knacks … a couple of family photos. She liked colour, and had added it in the form of cushions and throw rugs, the textures soft and inviting. The views from the windows were of the surrounding cityscape and nothing special. None of it was special.

      This place hadn’t been designed with looking outward in mind. This place was for curling up in, intimate and engulfing. The hotel apartment he’d taken her to had been bigger and better outfitted.

      ‘It isn’t much. One bedroom, a couple of bathrooms, one study and this space. I’ve never—’

      He followed her through to the kitchen and set the food on the counter. ‘Never what?’

      She was for ever revealing her innermost thoughts to him. ‘I don’t entertain here much.’

      ‘It’s your cave,’ he murmured. ‘I get it. And I’m flattered that I got an invitation. No pressure, okay? You want me to leave—just show me the door.’

      ‘I don’t want you to leave.’ And it wasn’t just because the food containers he’d started lining up on the kitchenette bench held so much promise. ‘Is that pork belly with plum sauce on the side, green beans and mashed potatoes from my second favourite restaurant?’

      She might have been guilty of telling him about the dish on the weekend and waxing lyrical.

      ‘It is. When did you last eat?’

      Rowan rubbed at the frown between her eyes. ‘Maybe around eleven?’

      ‘And you started when? Six?’

      She nodded, and he speared her with a penetrating glance.

      ‘Work. Sleep. Eat. Play. Balance, Ro. Haven’t you ever heard of it?’

      ‘Says the man who up until a couple of weeks ago lived his work twenty-four-seven. Undercover.’

      ‘And I have learned my lesson.’

      She dumped a handful of serving spoons on the counter and he picked one up and started dishing food out.

      ‘More potato?’

      ‘Yes. Always yes to that question. How long are you here for?’

      ‘We’ll leave again tomorrow night and take Trig with us for the weekend. You too, if you want?’

      Rowan hesitated. Much as she wanted to, her dance card was already full. ‘Sorry. I’m on call. And I have a date with an octogenarian.’

      ‘Your grandfather?’

      ‘You should meet him. I think you’d like him.’

      Jared stilled, and then carefully, casually, continued serving.

      ‘I saw that hesitation,’ she murmured. ‘Too soon to talk of having you meet my favourite person?’

      ‘No, I— It wasn’t that.’ It was as close to a mumble as he ever got. ‘You said I should meet him and I instantly thought yes. Which gave me pause—because normally there is a pause while I try to figure out how to say no thanks.’

      ‘You probably only want to meet him because he’s a retired general who owns a pet tortoise called Veronica.’

      ‘Veronica, huh?’

      ‘You should probably compliment the General on her superbly patterned shell. He’s very proud of her.’

      ‘I have absolutely no idea whether you’re setting me up or not.’ His smile warmed her. ‘But I like it. Where are we eating? Bench or table?’

      ‘Table.’

      He really was deliciously easy to accommodate. They sat and ate, and Rowan tried not to bolt her food, but it was so good, and— Oh.

      ‘What would you like to drink?’ So much for her skills as a hostess.

      ‘Relax. I’ll get it.’

      He