And yet she still hadn’t leaned back against the sofa cushions. He had his work cut out for him tonight. He poured wine into both glasses and handed her one.
“Thanks.” She took a sip.
“Now lean back against the sofa.”
She shot him a glare. “Is that an order?”
“Nope.”
But he waited until she finally did.
What was it going to take to make this woman relax?
He figured they had all night, and no matter how long it took, he was going to put her at ease.
* * *
Amelia was definitely not relaxed. Being here in Flynn’s house—with Flynn, sitting in the same room with Flynn, was not relaxing.
He looked delicious in his dark jeans and his gray Henley, the sleeves pushed up his forearms revealing teasing bits of his tattoos. It was all she could do not to run her fingers over those puzzling pieces and ask him to remove his shirt so she could map his body.
With her tongue.
Dear God. Where had that come from?
She gave a suspicious look at the glass of wine, wondering if it had some magical, fantasy-inducing qualities, then accepted the fact that it had been a long, dry spell for her in the sex department and she couldn’t blame the wine. It was just the man and her attraction to him.
The wrong man. Her boss.
So totally inappropriate.
This was a disaster and she was going to get fired for even thinking of Flynn as some kind of sex toy that she could climb on and have an orgasm with. What the hell was wrong with her? She should flee now before something awful happened. Like all her fantasies coming true.
She took a long swallow of wine.
“Good?” he asked.
She assumed he was referring to the wine and not her fantasy. “Yes. Very good.”
He grabbed his glass and moved to the sofa, sitting next to her, which raised her discomfort level. He grabbed his netbook and inched closer.
“I looked over a few recipes for the bluefin tuna. Do you want to go over those?”
“Oh. Sure.”
He leaned in, his shoulder and thigh brushing hers. Really, it wasn’t like this was a first for her. She had male employees and worked shoulder to shoulder with them all the time.
The problem was, she wasn’t attracted to any of them. But she was attracted to Flynn and that was wrong on so many levels.
When he’d first hired her, she’d noticed how incredibly good-looking he was, but she knew her boundaries, so she figured it wouldn’t be a problem. Plus, she was so done with men. After her divorce, the last thing she wanted was to get involved.
But recently, something had changed. Watching Flynn choose one wrong woman after another had made her feel sympathetic toward his plight. And when Tara had matched him up with sweet, quirky and intelligent Skylar, she’d been hopeful. But she had to admit it had caused a tiny quake of jealousy, and she hadn’t expected that.
She had felt bad when Skylar had turned out to be more attracted to Aaron. And then she’d felt relieved. One, because that meant Flynn would be free, and two, because Aaron wasn’t a match for her.
Not that she wanted or needed a guy in her life, because she didn’t. Actually, she had no idea what she wanted right now. Not a man, for sure.
Or did she? Because she was sitting next to Flynn going over recipes and she wasn’t thinking about fish. She was thinking how rock hard his thigh was as it pressed against hers, how good he smelled, and how very much she wanted to climb onto him and straddle his lap.
So maybe she did want a man. At least for sex. But Flynn wasn’t the man she should be having sex with.
She sighed. What a mess of contradictions she was.
“So, you don’t like this idea?”
She lifted her gaze to his, realizing she hadn’t been paying attention to a word he said. “What idea?”
“You weren’t listening, were you?”
“Sorry. My head was somewhere else.”
He laid the netbook on the coffee table and picked up his glass of wine. “Tell me where your head was, then.”
Absolutely not. “Oh, it was nothing. Just a problem at work.”
Liar, liar. And her pants were definitely on fire right now.
“I’m your guy, then. What’s going on?”
She gave him a dismissive wave. “Nothing I can’t handle.”
“Talk to me, Amelia. What’s wrong?”
“One of the prep cooks. I’m having problems with him.”
“With his work product?”
“No, and that’s the problem. He’s very good at his job. When he’s there. But he doesn’t show up on time, and he’s left mid-shift twice in the past week, claiming his wife is sick and he’s had to take care of her and the kids. I’m trying to be supportive. Stuff happens. I get that.”
“I take it that it’s not just this past week with him, is it?”
She appreciated that he realized she wasn’t falling for Jeff’s excuses. “This isn’t an isolated incident. Two weeks ago he came in late, claiming his wife’s job had changed and they were working out scheduling issues so he had to deal with the kids and the babysitter and some kind of nonsense.”
Flynn ran his fingertip around the rim of the wineglass. “And you’re sensing a pattern.”
“Yes. Other people have lives and families, too, and they manage to make it to work on time and stay for their shifts. I don’t mind an occasional crisis. We all have them and everyone pitches in and deals with it. But when someone is always late or misses work on a consistent basis, it puts a strain on the rest of the kitchen staff. It’s not fair to them.”