The Unwilling Bride by Jennifer Greene Read Free Book Online

wanted to make you borscht, blinchikis, maybe vatrushkas. Give you samples of some Russian food. But couldn’t find ingredients. Best I could do was Oriental. You probably hate Oriental, huh?”
    “Oh, no, I’m crazy about Oriental food, but Stefan-”
    “Great.” He made an effusive gesture, shooing her out. “You go back to workroom. I’ll bring in. Quiet as rat. Not bother you.”
    “Quiet as a mouse.” She automatically corrected him.
    “That’s me,” he agreed.
    For a man who made ardent, extravagant and passionate protests about not bothering her, Stefan had managed to embed himself into her life as tenaciously as a tick on a hound.
    Four days later, he showed up at her workroom door, carrying a tray. Paige took one look at the lunch of shiitake mushrooms and shrimp, and thought this had gone too far. Way too far. She had no idea where he’d found the oyster sauce or fresh cilantro leaves—certainly not in her kitchen. Completely without permission, Stefan had stacked her wood and stocked her kitchen and done all kinds of nefarious other chores over the past few days.
    Someone was going to arrest him for B and E and Trespass unless he gained a grasp of American laws about privacy—and soon. Since polite tact hadn’t gotten through to him worth spit, Paige figured that it was past time that she tried getting serious and tough with him. And she would.
    But not until this lunch was over.
    “Too much garlic?” Arms loosely crossing his chest, Stefan watched her bring the fork to her mouth and swallow the first morsel.
    “The proportion of garlic is beyond perfect.”
    “Too many of the scallions?”
    She refused to answer until she’d savored another bite. Maybe she was suspicious of him. Maybe she hadn’t figured him out yet; maybe she was wary of what he wanted from her. But that man had a technique with a wok that could sweep any woman away.
    Personally Paige had never indulged in any wasteof-time seduction fantasies about being swept away. The entire subject of sex was better buttonholed in a mental attic. But sex was sex, and food…oh, man, real food was her downfall. Decadence had never been this tempting. The delicate flavor of the mushrooms blended perfectly with the oyster sauce and soy and black pepper, giving the taste buds on her tongue a lust attack, and as for the sassy bite of cilantro…she swallowed. Unwillingly. “This is heaven. This is nectar. This is beyond to die for,” she told Stefan. “Darned if I know why you’re wasting your life as a physicist. You could make a fortune as a chef.”
    “To die for—this is good term?”
    “The highest praise I know.” She waved a fork at him—after taking another bite. “But you mustn’t do this again. I mean it, Stefan.” She gobbled another mouthful. “You’ve been helpful and wonderful, but you’re taking the American concept of neighborliness too far. I can’t take favors from you like this. It isn’t right. It’s making me uncomfortable. I really want you to stop, okay?”
    Stefan watched another greedy forkful disappear into her mouth faster than a jet takeoff. “That’s a straight high-five okeydoke no-sweat gotcha, lambchop.”
    Paige would have rolled her eyes—if she dared take her gaze off him. His command of the language was growing by leaps and bounds, thanks to the amount oftime they’d spent together. He did relish every ounce of slang he picked up, but sexist slips like “lambchop” were happening less and less.
    The problem in spending time with him, though, was her growing suspicion that Mr. Stefan Michaelovich was not really having all that much trouble with the language. It was mighty amazing that he grasped complex concepts faster than a finger snap, yet managed to misunderstand only when it mightily conveniently suited him.
    The man had a teensy tendency to ignore—if not bulldoze—any obstacles in his path. Paige was becoming increasingly wary of his irresistibly innocent boyish shrugs and the