Divine Solace: 8 by Joey W. Hill Read Free Book Online

okay with that. I’d love to see how you do
this.”
    He took her silence for assent, pressing her arm before he
headed up her hallway. As he stepped into the kitchen and living area, she saw
him give the latter a quick glance, then he disappeared left.
    Not sure how she was feeling about all of this, she went
into her room to freshen up for dinner. She was used to men taking charge in
the “I’m Tarzan, you Jane” way, not the “Okay, I’m going to take care of all
your domestic needs, so you just relax, find your paper and put your feet up”
kind of way. It didn’t feel like a role reversal, like he was trying to be a
woman. Nothing about Noah said woman to her. In fact, she was a little turned
on by how he’d done it, not taking no for an answer, determined in an relaxed
way that made it pretty much impossible not to follow his direction.
    The weekend was going to be an experience.
    * * * * *
    She’d gone into her craft room and spent a little time
setting up what she’d do after dinner. It was an exercise in self-restraint,
since what she really wanted to do was hang over the kitchen counter and watch
him doing whatever he was doing. Eventually that desire, and appetizing dinner
smells, won out.
    Working for the tea room had given Gen such an educated and
sensitive nose, she noticed aromas far more acutely, and it was impossible to
ignore the olfactory temptation of spiced tomato sauce and bubbling cheese.
When she came to the kitchen, she found more than one temptation waiting there.
    He’d set the table and was taking the lasagna out of the
oven. The ribbed fabric of his dark tank showed his lean, muscled physique, as
well as the bump of his nipples. When he bent to pull the lasagna out of the
oven, she got a distracting view of his ass flexing under worn denim, his
shoulders doing the same as he put the tray on the stove, turned it off,
transferred the two pieces to plates.
    “You could have used the microwave.”
    “Oven keeps it warm longer. Makes it bubble better.”
    Yes, it did. She preferred to do it that way herself. He’d
put the salad in a bowl with tongs, arranged the dressing options next to that.
He’d even toasted some of her sliced bread. The smell suggested he’d added a
light layer of garlic and butter to them.
    “I’ll gain weight with you around.”
    He gave her an amused glance. “My Mistress makes me work out
with her sometimes, though it pisses her off that I can bench press more than
she can. Claims God is an insecure, sexist bastard. I tell her she’s too
competitive.”
    He pulled out a chair and gestured to Gen to take a seat in
it. As she approached, she caught his scent, distinct from the dinner aromas.
Some of the molasses-wood Ceylon tea fragrance had lingered, but it was mixed
with that seawater smell and his own unique blend, something that made her want
to inhale deeper, press her nose against that pocket between his collarbones,
the base of his throat. Some of it might be Lyda, an intriguing mix. She
remembered that combination of female sweat, soothing moisturizer, lip balm.
    Maybe Noah wore one of those male body sprays that included
pheromones. That was the excuse Gen gave herself when, instead of putting her
hand on the chair, she put it on him.
    It was just his side, beneath his arm, but when she felt the
firm flesh beneath the thin tank, her fingers tightened on him. Her gaze fluttered
up to his, and suddenly her throat was tight. What was she doing? This
man…technically he belonged to another woman, right? Yet the signals they both
sent…it was confusing.
    A hell of a rationalization, wasn’t it? All she had to do
was open her mouth and ask the question, but asking the question meant she had
a reason for asking it. Caution first. Always. She didn’t want to ask anything.
She wanted to touch. Just touch. That was okay, right? It wasn’t like she was
touching anything…wrong.
    Okay, another rationalization.
    One he allowed her, because as her hand